


Falling Into The Ship Of Dreams (Editing)

by AvyJC15



Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 66,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvyJC15/pseuds/AvyJC15
Summary: On an expedition held to search for the remains of the Titanic, in hopes of finding a famous and extremely valuable sapphire stone that was believed to be on the sunken ship, Avery Rosalinda Lovett finds herself being pulled into a completely different time and place, where she finally finds love. Though once she returns to her own world, she finds herself wondering...Was it real, or was it all just a dream?**ATTENTION** I DO NOT OWN ANY OF  JAMES CAMERON'S ORIGINAL CHARACTERS FROM THE ORIGINAL TITANIC. I ONLY OWN AVERY AND FEW OTHER CHARACTERS YOU HAVE NEVER READ OR HEARD OFBook Cover made by @tittylord from Wattpad.com





	1. Preamble

Avery Rosalinda's life had always been horrible. She was an orphan, and nobody cared about her… not even her foster families. She'd had many of those throughout her short life, though none really cared whether she was happy or not. In fact, nearly every single family she'd been in had abused her either physically, mentally or both. It had been so bad, to the point where she had, recurringly, tried to end her life.

It even got worse when she lost her best friends who, like her, had it rough in life.

There were two girls. And together, with Avery, they were a dynamic trio. Together, they felt like they could conquer the world, they felt invincible; they were inseparable, alas, life wasn't fortunate for either of them.

First, there was Becca, who always threw a tantrum when someone called her Rebecca. She hated that name as she was named after her mother, a woman who never cared for her and abandoned her at the age of six, in a museum. She had spent nights hidden in a marine exhibit until she was found by the night guard, who took her to an orphanage. Her first week there, no one spoke to her, and she was okay with that... until some of her fellow orphans started bullying her. She had cried and cried as they made fun of her, teased her and emotionally tortured her until Avery stepped in and scared them away. They became best friends from that day on.

Then there was Ryan, though she called herself Rhianna as she hated the fact that she'd been given a boy's name. She wasn't an orphan, but her father always abused her, physically more so than mentally. There was no stopping it, though. Avery and Becca had tried many times to convince her to run away or to at least report him to the police, since the day they met her hiding in an alley, a block away from her house, but she refused as her father threatened her. The man was sick, and they all agreed to that. Avery was glad when he was arrested. Unfortunately, that was after he had raped his own daughter and killed her.

Avery became depressed, though she did not try to kill herself as she had tried many times before because she knew she had to be there for her remaining best friend. But she was done when she had been sent back to the orphanage. She was happy because the family she had been in was as bad as the previous ones. The second she stepped out of the car she was driven in, she ran into the orphanage, excited to see Becca again, though once she reached the bathroom on the last floor that had always been reserved for them to, the sight before her wasn't one she ever wished to be greeted by.

Becca lay there on the floor, dead from an overdose of stolen drugs and a hit on the head which was profusely gushing blood.

That was enough for Avery.

She stood there, numb and emotionless, and just waited until Miss Hemming, the owner of the orphanage, came to call the ambulance and police before walking to her room and locking herself up. No one wanted to adopt her anymore, not that she cared. She just stayed in her room, locked up, ignoring Miss Hemming's calls. She didn't budge from her bed, where she sat, her back pressed against the wall, staring blankly at the opposing one.

The numbness and lack of other reaction lasted for, nearly, little over a week.

After about ten days had passed, she decided she couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to keep living in a world, where she was alone to face it. In a world she knew she would never find it in herself to love anyone in any form again because she knew that, in the end, they would leave her, one way or another.

After all, it had always been that way.

All the boyfriends she had, all the friends she had gained every now and then... everyone she loved always left her, and she hated that. She didn't want to keep suffering. She didn't want life to keep torturing her that way for something she never did, though... who would've thought that would all change one day? Certainly not her. She never thought any of that would change, ever, until  _ _that__ night.

The night she was rescued.

The wind was whipping through her dark, reddish-brown hair. She could smell the sea calling her to come down and taste the salt water. The sun had almost finished setting... it was a beautiful sight. The one she made sure would be the last sight she saw before she'd fall into her deep  _ _sleep__. She got there extremely late, so that no cars would see her standing on the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge, arms stretched out, head tilted back, blue-green eyes closed. She looked peaceful... And she was. She was finally leaving the world she hated so much.

She bit her lip, not daring herself to take her last breath yet. The beautiful sight before her rendered her hesitant. It made her think about the many other beautiful things that might be out there, that she still hadn't seen for herself. But she couldn't back down. She couldn't let such a beautiful sight stop her.

Many car horns honked, but she ignored them.  _ _This is it__. Blinking back a few traitorous tears, she took one last deep breath before letting her body fall forward. She didn't scream as she dropped through the open air like a meteor. The wind resisted, trying vainly to fight the unconquerable gravity, pushing against her and twirling her in spirals like a rocket crashing to the earth.

__Yes!__ The word echoed through her head as she sliced through the surface of the water. It was icy, colder than she'd feared, and yet the chill only added to the high. She let all thought leave her mind as she plunged deeper into the freezing black water.

It felt like the usual calm waves were fighting over her, jerking her back and forth between them as if determined to share by pulling her into halves. All the air left her lungs and was replaced by water. Cold, salty water. Then... nothing.

Seconds passed as her life gradually faded with the waves. Life, soon followed by feeling, but then, there was a hand, an arm. An arm that wrapped itself securely around her, now, very numb waist. An arm that belonged to none other than the first man who saved her...

But surely not the last.


	2. Expedition

Brock Lovett was a famed treasure hunter. His most famous discovery was Spanish gold. His critics challenged the salvage rights and ethics, Lovett claimed that he worked alongside museum experts and his findings were treated with respect.

He was also Avery Rosalinda  _Lovett_ 's savior. The night she had tried to end her life was the night she met someone who did care about her. He even promised her, unlike anybody else, that he would and will never leave her. The seventeen-year-old spent quite a while doubting him, but eventually started to believe him and stayed glued to his side till current date. He was very dear to her, and she looked up to him, seeing him as the older brother she never had, even if he was two decades older than her.

Ever since she was taken under Brock's wing, she changed, and Lovett was glad that it was for the better even if he didn't know exactly how she used to be.

She became very optimistic about her life, despite her many nightmares about her entire hellish life and previously being suicidal. Although she was quite unsociable, she was polite... most of the time; there were a few incidents in which she refused to be polite. She was very smart and became even smarter when she finally got into a public school; she studied hard and within a year, graduated high school at sixteen. She was also very passionate and incredibly brave. She was also an extremely talented actress, a talent no doubt practiced through long years of skilfully pretending to be happy, patient, polite, though she was still quite feisty and strong-willed, and at other times carefree and did not shy away from rude habits, which was something Brock loved about the young girl he saw as his little sister.

Brock, another passionate person.

For the past three years, he was obsessively after the Heart of the Ocean, funded by Dave and Barry who were pressing him for finding it. Of course, being the perfect little sister, she supported him and accepted when he asked her to come with him as he knew that, for a reason unknown to them both, she was practically in love with the sea. Brock was meant to work alongside Lewis Bodine and Bobby Buell on the Kedysh. It had been settled, and him and Avery, whom he fondly called Roe or Rose, were to leave on a Sunday morning. Though Avery, not being a morning person, wanted to sleep in. Of course, him being like a brother and taking it upon himself to be brotherly annoying wouldn't have that.  
  
That morning, Avery felt like she felt on most Sunday mornings— as though she had just lain down to sleep in her queen-sized bed— when she was being shaken awake by Brock.

"Roe, wake up," he whispered softly. But Avery didn't want to wake up. Groaning, she batted his hand away and shifted in her bed, bringing her pillow up to her face. That only made Brock roll his blue eyes and chuckle. "I told you to take a break, not to go practice Karate."

"That is my break," she mumbled against her pillow. "You have no idea how exhausting acting lessons can be... I hate being girly and wearing all those a one-piece garments that cover the body and extend down over the legs.."

He chuckled again and shook his head. "They're called dresses."

"Exactly my point," she muttered before removing the pillow from her face and opening her blue-green eyes to stare at him. "Remind me again why I decided to take acting classes?"

"Only way for you to become a sociable person," he replied only to have the pillow thrown at his face.

"Hey!" she said, faking offense. "I have always been a sociable person. I talk to people."

He snorted. "Yeah, with your fist."

She rolled her eyes. "Want to  _talk_?"

"No, thanks. Already had my fair share Friday," he said, shuddering at the reminder of the events that had occurred two days before.

They had gotten into an argument— something that rarely happened— and, he can't remember how exactly it happened, but he ended up challenging her to a sparring match. That was a challenge she could not refuse, and that was pretty much when Brock knew never to challenge her to anything again as she gets quite competitive. And a competitive Avery can be quite harmful; he had quite some bruises on his arms and chest.

"Anyway, why are you here?" she asked, fighting back a yawn as she stared at the ceiling of her room.

"We're leaving soon, remember?"

Avery frowned for a moment before recalling what they were meant to do, groaning. "It's today?" she whined.

He rolled his eyes and threw the pillow back at her. "Yes," he said, getting up from where he sat on her bed and heading for the door. "Now get dressed, so we can get to the port and start early."

"Fine," she grumbled, and with that, he left. She lied there for a moment before sighing as she sat up and got off her bed to change out of her nightwear.

Once she was done, she grabbed the phone on her nightstand and dialed the first number that came into her mind as she usually does every morning.

"Yellow?" a voice asked at the other end of the line.

"Hey, Anna. It's me, Avery," she said.

Paulianna Simmons was a friend she had gotten pretty close to since she transferred into her new school after being taken under Brock's wing. No one called her Paulianna, though, because she hated that name; everyone who knew her knew to call her Polly, Paula or Anna, or she'd end up throwing a tantrum. She was like a mix of Becca and Rhianna. It used to hurt Avery to even look at her when they first met, though she eventually managed to open up more to her and can now even proudly call Anna her best friend.

"Oh, hey, Ave! What's up?" Anna said. Avery could hear the smile in her friend's voice, causing her to smile as well.

"I'm leaving in a few minutes."

Anna's pout was practically audible throughout the line. "Already? When will you get back? Don't forget we still have that project to finish."

Avery chuckled. "I know, I know. I'll have our driver send you what I've advanced on it so far after he drops us off at the deck. And we'll be back in a few days time... I'll probably be back sooner. You know how I get when it comes to being near swimming water."

Anna laughed. "Yeah, one minute you're all crazy about it, ready to swim with the dolphins, then the next you're all seasick. It's weird."

Avery gave out a gasp, faking offense. "You're weird," she retorted.

"We're both weird, so deal with it," Anna replied before they both laughed. "Anyway, you'll call me when you get back, so I can meet you at the dock, right?"

"Of course, though I gotta go now."

"Okay, take care and have fun," Anna said. "Oh! and tell Brock to stop being so cocky," she added, causing Avery to chuckle.

"Will do," she said. "See ya."

"Bye."

and with that she hung up the phone, grabbed her messenger bag in which she had her sketchbook, the only pencil she used only for drawing, and her novel  _Dying Inside_ , written by Robert Silverberg— a writer she idolized very much, and met Brock outside, in the car that was waiting, now, only for her, after she locked the door of their house. The car ride to the port was silent, with the exception of the radio playing, but at least it wasn't uncomfortable. The driver was humming along to the music playing on the tuner, Brock, who sat on the passenger seat, was staring at the window, watching the streets they drove by, throwing a few glances, through the rear-view mirror, at Avery, who sat in the back seat, quietly drawing in her sketchbook. At some point, he found himself frowning in concern when he noticed Avery had stopped drawing and was now frowning in confusion.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

But Avery wasn't sure how to answer. In fact, she sure if she was okay or not. "I-I don't know..." Her frown deepened as she studied the sketch she had drawn. It was the portrayal of a young, handsome man, probably in his late teens. His straight hair looked like it could be a dark blond color and his eyes could be blue. But it wasn't just the young man's beauty that caught her attention, it was the familiarity that submerged from his soft, boyish features.

"Avery!"

Avery's head snapped up, only to find Brock and the driver staring at her, both raising an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked, though her voice came out rough, almost raspy as if she hadn't talked in ages,

"We're here, Miss," said the driver, while Brock just continued to stare at her, concern etched across his face.

"Oh, right... sorry," she mumbled, closing her sketchbook and throwing it, along with her pencil, into her bag, which she then slung over her shoulder before getting out of the car. Avery and Brock silently made their way to the Kedysh, though once they were on the ship, Brock couldn't help it anymore as concern and curiosity were itching him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked as they boarded the ship.

Avery frowned once more and pursed her lips, thinking of how she could answer him before finally opting for honesty as usual. She shook her head as she brought her sketchbook back out. She opened it to the last drawing she did and practically shoved it into his face.

"Do I, or did I ever know a dude that looks like that?" she asked.

Brock studied the very detailed portrait of the unknown young man before frowning as well. "I don't think so. I know practically every person you know."

Avery bit her lip than shook her head once more, putting her sketchbook away. "Then, no. I'm not okay. Brock, I just drew a cute guy who, for some reason, I find quite familiar. But I'm sure I've never seen him in my life."

Brock sighed and placed an arm around her shoulder. "Just forget about it, for now."

Avery reluctantly nodded. "Okay." and with that, they went to meet the other passengers on the Kedysh.

It was cold and windy. The air had that oceanic salty edge to it, and the waves crashing against each other around the moving ship almost drowned the voices resonating the inside.

Avery loved it. She loved the freedom she felt by traveling through the sea. There, she felt so carefree, so... alive. The soft wind blowing the hair away from her face. And the night! How beautiful it was when going overseas was indescribable. It was so breathtaking. And though she had learned to love being surrounded by many people and the idea of socializing, she preferred solitude when she was in such places.

That night, she spent it happily, watching the wild waves lit by the beautiful starry sky, leaning against a rail. She eventually went inside to sleep, but only after watching the sunrise. One of Avery's unfortunate bad habits is thinking about one thing for too long— it takes her sleep away. Usually, at times like these, Brock would lay beside her until her slumber took over, but the man was outside.  
  
Throwing the scratchy blankets to the side, Avery put her shoes on and left her cabin to join her brother. When she got outside, she found Brock propped against a scrubber, fast asleep and snoring. Chuckling, she walked over to him and sat by his side, leaning her head against his shoulder before closing her eyes. Lids still close, she chuckled again when she heard another snore coming from the other side of the scrubber; crammed into the remaining space was a bearded wide-body named Lewis Bodine, who was also asleep. Lewis was an R.O.V. (Remotely Operated Vehicle) pilot and was the resident Titanic expert. Anatoly Mikailavich, the submersibles' pilot, sat behind the, hunched over his controls... singing softly in Russian, making Avery smile at his soft, raspy voice as she let sleep overtake her. Anatoly then glanced at the bottom sonar and made a ballast adjustment.  
  
A pale, dead-flat lunar landscape. It got brighter, lit from above, as Mir One— the first submersible— entered the frame and dropped to the seafloor in a down-blast from its thrusters. It hit bottom after its two-hour free-fall with a loud bonk causing Brock, Bodine, and Avery, whom had barely gotten any sleep, to jerk awake at the landing.

"We are here," said Anatoly in his heavy Russian accent.

Minutes later, the two subs skimmed over the seafloor to the sound of side-scan sonar and the thrum of big thrusters. The featureless gray clay of the bottom unrolled in the lights of the submersibles. Bodine was watching the side-scan sonar display, where the outline of a huge pointed object was visible. Anatoly lied prone, driving the sub, his face pressed to the center port.

"Come left a little," Bodine instructed. "She's right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen. Thirteen... you should see it."  
  
"Do you see it?" Anatoly asked. "I don't see it... there!"

Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship appears. Its knife-edge prow was coming straight at them, seeming to plow the bottom sediment like ocean waves. It towered above the seafloor, standing just as it landed eighty-four years ago.  
  
The Titanic. Or what is left of her. Avery watched in awe as Mir One went up and over the bow railing, intact except for an overgrowth of "rusticles" draping it like mutated Spanish moss, causing her to grimace at that.

She scrunched her nose and shuddered. "Ew..." she muttered, causing Brock, who stood beside her, to chuckle and shake his head.

Not long after, tight on the eyepiece monitor of a video camcorder, Brock's face filled the black and white frame. "It gets me every time," he said, making Avery roll her eyes at his slight cheesiness.  
  
The image panned to the front viewport, looking over Anatoly's shoulder, to the bow railing visible in the lights beyond.

Anatoly turned. "Is just your guilt because of eh-stealing from the dead," he said, his thick accent somewhat messing up his words.

Brock rolled his eyes at the Russian as he operated the camera himself, turning it in his hand so it pointed at his own face.

"Thanks, Tolya," he said sarcastically. "Work with me, here." Brock resumed his serious, pensive gaze out the front port, with the camera aimed at himself at arm's length. Avery coughed back a laugh.  
  
"It still gets me every time..." Brock repeated, ignoring his sister. "To see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above."

Anatoly rolled his eyes and muttered in Russian, causing Avery to laugh. Even though she only understood a bit of Russian from what she learned in her extra course she recently started taking in school, she knew he was saying something along the lines of her brother being quite a hothead and drama queen.

Bodine chuckled and watched the sonar. "You are so full of shit, boss."

Avery laughed again and shared a high-fived Bodine. "Agreed dude... agreed," she replied, through her chortles.

Mir Two drove aft down the starboard side, past the huge anchor while Mir One passed over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass caps gleaming. The twenty-two-foot-long subs were like white bugs next to the enormous wreck.

"Dive nine," Brock continued. "Here we are again on the deck of Titanic... two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train going over an ant if our hull fails. These windows are nine inches thick and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds."

Mir Two landed on the Boat Deck, next to the ruins of the Officer's Quarters. Mir One landed on the roof of the deck house nearby.

"Right. Let's go to work."

Bodine slipped on a pair of 3-D electronic goggles and grabbed the joystick controls of the ROV. Outside the sub, the ROV, a small orange and black robot called Snoop Dog, lifted from its cradle and flew forward.  
  
"Walkin' the dog," said Bodine.

Avery raised an eye at the man. "You seriously named the bot Snoop Dog?"

Bodine shrugged. "Got a better name?"

"Something more normal would've worked," Brock chimed in. "Like Clifford."

Avery blinked at him. "Snoop Dog's good," she said, dismissing her previous question. "I mean, seriously? Clifford for a robot?"

"True, that," mumbled Bodine as the three of them watched the sonar.

Snoop Dog drove itself away from the sub, paying out its umbilical behind it like a robot yo-yo. Its twin stereo-video cameras swiveled like insect eyes. The ROV descended through an open shaft that once was the beautiful First Class Grand Staircase. Snoop Dog went down several decks, then moved laterally into the First Class Reception Room.

Snoop's video pov moved through the cavernous interior. The remains of the ornate, hand-carved woodwork, which gave the ship its elegance moved through the floodlights, the lines slightly blurred by slow dissolution and descending rusticle formations. Stalactites of rust hung down so that at times it looked like a natural grotto, then the scene shifted, and the lines of a ghostly undersea mansion came into view, rendering Avery a tad bit confused as she felt her heart clench in hate at the old, decayed, luxurious place.

As Snoop passed the ghostly images of Titanic's opulence: a grand piano in amazingly good shape, crashed on its side against a wall. The keys gleamed black and white in the lights. A chandelier still hung from the ceiling by its wire... glinting as Snoop moved around it. Its lights played across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle, then some white star china... a woman's high-top "granny shoe". Then something eerie: what looked like a child's skull resolved into the porcelain head of a doll, causing Avery's heart to clench, this time, in sadness.

"Hey," Brock murmured, lightly touching her arm. She looked at him. "You okay?"

She nodded stiffly. "Yeah... it's just... sad."

He sent her a small smile, softly chuckling. "I know," he replied before they both turned their attention back to the sonar, where they watched Snoop enter a corridor which was much better preserved.

Here and there, a door still hung on its rusted hinges. An ornate piece of molding, a wall sconce... hinted at the grandeur of the past. The ROV turned and went through a black doorway, entering room B-52, the sitting room of a "promenade suite", one of the most luxurious staterooms on Titanic.

"Is that a sitting room?" Avery asked curiously.

Bodine nodded. "Yup. Heading for bedroom B-54."  
  
"Stay off the floor," said Brock. "Don't stir it up like you did yesterday."  
  
"I'm tryin' boss."

Glinting in the lights were the brass fixtures of the near-perfectly preserved fireplace. An albino Galathea crab crawled over it. Nearby were the remains of a divan and a writing desk. The Dog crossed the ruins of the once elegant room toward another door. It squeezed through the door frame, scraping rust and wood chunks loose on both sides. It moved out of a cloud of rust and kept on going.  
  
"I'm crossing the bedroom," said Bodine.

The remains of a pillared canopy bed. Broken chairs, a dresser. Through the collapsed wall of the bathroom, the porcelain commode and bathtub took almost new, gleaming in the dark.  
  
"Okay, I want to see what's under that wardrobe door," said Brock.

The ROV deployed its manipulator arms and started moving debris aside. A lamp was lifted, its ceramic colors as bright as they were in 1912.

"Easy, Lewis. Take it slow."

Lewis gripped a wardrobe door, lying at an angle in a corner, and pulled it with Snoop's gripper. It moved, reluctantly, in a cloud of silt. Under it was a dark object. The silt cleared, and Snoop's cameras showed them what was under the door...  
  
"Ooohh daddy-oh, are you seein' what I'm seein'?" Bodine asked excitedly.

Avery rolled her eyes again when she glanced up at her brother, who watched his monitors. By his expression, it was like he was seeing the Holy Grail.  
  
"Oh, baby baby baby!" He grabbed the mike and brought it up to his mouth. "It's payday, boys."  
  
On the screen, in the glare of the lights, was the object of their quest: a small steel combination safe.

On the stern of the deck of Kedysh, the safe, dripping wet in the afternoon sun, was being lowered onto the deck of a ship by a winch cable. They were now on the Russian research vessel Akademik Mistislav Kedysh. A crowd had gathered, including most of the crew of Kedysh, the sub crews, and Bobby Buell, a hand-wringing money guy named, who represents the limited partners. There was also a documentary video crew, hired by Lovett to cover his moment of glory.

Everyone crowded around the safe. In the background, Mir Two was being lowered into its cradle on deck by a massive hydraulic arm. Mir One was already recovered with Bodine following Brock as he bounded over to the safe like a kid on Christmas morning.  
  
"Who's the best? Say it."  
  
Brock rolled his eyes as Avery chuckled. "You are, Lewis." He then turned to the video crew. "You rolling?"

"Rolling."

Brock nodded to his technicians, and they set about drilling the safe's hinges. During this operation, Brock amped the suspense, working the lens to fill the time.

"Well, here it is," he started. "The moment of truth. Here's where we find out if the time, the sweat, the money spent to charter this ship and these subs, to come out here to the middle of the North Atlantic... were worth it. If what we think is in that same... is in that safe... it will be."

Brock grinned wolfishly in anticipation of his greatest find yet. The door was pried loose, clanging onto the deck. Brock moved closer, peering into the safe's wet interior. A long moment then... his face said it all.  
  
"Shit."

"You know, boss," Bodine said, trying to cheer him up. "This happened to Geraldo and his career never recovered."

Avery gave him a 'what the hell' look. "Was that supposed to cheer him up?" she asked rhetorically.

Brock growled under his breath before furiously turning to the video cameraman and pushing past him. "Get that outta my face."

Later, in the preservation room, technicians were carefully removing some papers from the safe and placing them in a tray of water to separate them safely. Nearby, other artifacts from the stateroom were being washed and preserved. Buell was on the satellite phone with the investors while Brock was yelling at the video crew.

"You send out what I tell you when I tell you," he snapped. "I'm signing your paychecks, not sixty minutes. Now get set up for the uplink."

Buell covered the phone and turned to Brock. "The partners want to know how it's going?"  
  
Avery bit her lip as Brock gave him a look of disbelief. "How it's going? It's going like a first date in prison, whattaya think?!" He grabbed the phone from Buell and went instantly smooth. "Hi, Dave? Barry? Look, it wasn't in the safe... no, look, don't worry about it, there're still plenty of places it could be... in the floor debris in the suite, in the mother's room, in the purser's safe on C deck..."

Though Avery wasn't all for finding the Heart of the Ocean, for some reason that was unknown even to her, she couldn't help her curiosity. She didn't want it found, but, at the same time, she wanted to see it. Not for its precious value, but for something more sentimental that only seemed to get her more and more confused. Biting her lip, she glanced at each artifact when something caught her eye. Brows furrowed, she lightly tugged on Brock's arm to get his attention.

"Brock..."

He looked at her before following her gaze, only to furrow his brows in curiosity as well. "Hang on a second," he said into the phone.  
  
A tech coaxed some letters in the water tray to one side with a tong... revealing a conté crayon drawing of a woman. Brock looks closely at the drawing, which was in excellent shape, though its edges have partially disintegrated. The woman was beautiful and beautifully rendered. In her late teens or early twenties, she was nude, though posed with a kind of casual modesty. She was on an Empire divan, in a pool of light that seemed to radiate outward from her eyes. Scrawled in the lower right corner was the date:  _April 14, 1912_. And the initials JD. The girl was not entirely nude. At her throat was a diamond necklace with one large stone hanging in the center. Brock grabbed a reference photo from the clutter on the lab table. It is a period black-and-white photo of a diamond necklace on a black velvet jeller's display stand. He held it next to the drawing. It was clearly the same piece... a complex setting with a massive central stone which was almost heart-shaped.

"I'll be God damned," he said to himself with a humorless chuckle.

Though it was after re-studying the portrayal that he noticed something quite shocking, something Avery did not fail to see.

"Holy shit," Brock mumbled, looking between the drawing and the young girl standing right next to him.

The woman looked exactly like her.

"What the hell..." Avery muttered in shock and disbelief as she stared at the drawing, eyes wide. She was stuck too deeply into her own shock that she did not notice when the CNN News started taping down their story on a live satellite feed from the deck of the Kedysh, inter-cut with the CNN studio, nor the many times the camera pointed at her face and zoomed in.

"Treasure hunter Brock Lovett is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean," the announcer said. "Now he is using deep submergence technology to work two and a half miles down at another famous wreck... the Titanic. He is with us live via satellite from a Russian research ship in the middle of the Atlantic... hello Brock?"

Avery placed a comforting hand on her brother's arm to stop him from losing his temper.

He sent her a small grateful smile before turning back to the camera. "Yes, hi, Tracy. You know, Titanic is not just a shipwreck, Titanic is  _the_  shipwreck. It's the Mount Everest of shipwrecks."

Later that day, the Mir subs were set to be launched. Mir Two was already in the water, and Brock was getting ready to climb into Mir One when Buell ran up to him.

"There's a satellite call for you."

"Bobby, we're launching," Brock said, dismissively. "See these submersibles here, going in the water? Take a message."

"No, trust me, you want to take this call," Buell insisted, causing Brock and Avery, whom had just joined them, to share a look.

"Whatever it is, it seems important, Brock," Avery said. "I think it'd be better if we go see it."

Brock nodded, and they both followed Buell into the lab deck, where, once there, Buell immediately handed him the waiting phone, pushing down the blinking line.

"This is Brock Lovett. What can I do for you, Mrs... ?"

Avery bit her lip, slightly craning her neck as if that would help her listen into the conversation.

"... Mrs. Calvert?"

Avery huffed when she couldn't hear anything though became quite concerned when she saw Brock's face pale as he almost dropped the phone.

"What? What is it?" she urged him worriedly.

Buell looked over and noticed Brock's shocked expression. "I told you, you wanted to take this call."

"Alright," Brock said, ignoring Buell. "You have my attention, Rose." Avery's heart pounded, pulling her back into confusion. "Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"


	3. Going overboard

Brock and Bodine were watching Mir Two being swung over the side to start a dive.

"She's a goddamned liar!" Bodine exclaimed. "A nutcase. Like that... what's her name? That Anastasia babe."

"They're inbound," Buell said. Brock nodded and the three of them, with a quite silent and slightly reluctant Avery, headed forward to meet the approaching guests.

"She says she's Rose DeWitt Bukater, right?" Bodine said. "Rose DeWitt Bukater died on the Titanic. At the age of seventeen. If she'd've lived, she'd be over a hundred now."

"A hundred and one next month," Brock chimed in.

"Okay, so she's a very old goddamned liar," Bodine pressed. "I traced her as far back as the shipwreck— she was working as an actress in L.A. An actress. Her name was Rose Dawson. Then she married a guy named Calvert and moved to Cedar Rapids. Now Calvert's dead, and from what I've heard Cedar Rapids is dead."

They were silent for a moment, as they kept walking, when, suddenly, Avery decided to speak up, almost scaring the daylights out of the three men.

"It was a traumatizing event in which she surely lost someone very dear to her. Maybe that was what had pushed her into changing her name, which evidently changed again when she got married," she said calmly right before the noise surrounding them started to amplify.

The Sea Stallion approached the ship, forcing Brock to yell over the rotors. "And everybody who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead..." he said. "Or on this ship. But she knows about it. And I want to hear what she has to say. Got it?"

In a thundering downblast, the helicopter's wheels bounced down on the helipad. Avery, Brock, Buell, and Bodine watched as the helicopter crew chief handed out about ten suitcases, and then an old lady was lowered to the deck in a wheelchair by Kedysh crewmen. A younger woman in her forties, ducking unnecessarily under the rotor, followed her out, carrying the Pomeranian dog. The crew chief handed a puzzled Kedysh crew member in a goldfish bowl with several fish in it. The old lady sure did not travel light. It was almost hard to believe as the little old lady looked impossibly fragile amongst all the high tech gear, grungy deck crew, and gigantic equipment.

"S'cuse me, I have to go check our supply of Depends," Bodine muttered, excusing himself before leaving. Avery was next t excuse herself, feeling a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She sat there on her berth, staring at the portrayal of the handsome young man she had drawn the previous day.

Why had she drawn him? Who was he? and why did he look somewhat familiar?

Shaking her head, she closed her sketchbook, got up and left to meet Bodine and her brother, who were both surely with the newcomers, holding her book tightly to her chest.

Lizzy was unpacking Rose's things in a small utilitarian room. Rose was placing a number of framed photos on the bureau, arranging them carefully next to the fishbowl. Brock and Bodine were in the doorway.

"Is your stateroom alright?" Brock asked. Rose looked up and smiled kindly at him, her eyes twinkling in a strange way when they caught sight of Avery joining her brother at the door. The second their eyes locked together, Avery instantly looked away, her heart pounding hard against her chest in shock. They shared the same strange blue-green eyes.

"Yes. Very nice," she said gratefully. "Have you met my... adoptive granddaughter, Lizzy? She takes care of me."

"Yes. We met just a few minutes ago, grandma. Remember, up on deck?"

"Oh, yes," Rose replied with a small, soft laugh.

Brock glanced at Bodine... oh, oh. Bodine rolled his eyes. Rose finished arranging her photographs. Avery subtly stepped forward to get a glimpse of those photos. They were usual snapshots... children and grandchildren... well, adoptive ones, and her late husband.

"There, that's nice," Rose said. "I have to have my pictures when I travel. And Freddy of course." She turned to the Pomeranian. "Isn't that right, sweetie."

"Would you like anything?" Brock asked.

"I should like to see my drawing." With that said, they all headed to the lab deck.

Rose looked at the drawing in its tray of water, confronting herself across a span of eighty-four years. Until they could figure out the best way to preserve it, they had to keep it immersed. It swayed and rippled, almost as if alive. Tight on Rose's ancient eyes, gazing at the drawing. She suddenly smiled, as if remembering.

Brock had the reference photo of the necklace in his hand. "Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792, about the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too... re-cut into a heart-like shape... And it became Le Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond."

Rose smiled, amused. "It was a dreadful, heavy thing." She pointed at the drawing. "I only wore it this once."

"You actually believe this is you, grandma?" Lizzy asked.

"It is me, dear." Rose's eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Wasn't I a hot number?"

"I tracked it down through insurance records..." Brock said. "An old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Rose?"

"Someone named Hockley, I should imagine."

Brock nodded. "Nathan Hockley, right. Pittsburgh steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Caledon Hockley bought in France for his fiancee... you... a week before he sailed on Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking. So the diamond had to've gone down with the ship." He turned to Lizzy. "See the date?"

She looked at the drawing. "April 14, 1912."

Avery sighed. She knew where he was getting at. "Brock..." she warned halfheartedly.

He ignored her. "If your grandma is who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day Titanic sank." He turned back to Rose. "And that makes you my new best friend. I will happily compensate you for anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery."

"I don't want your money, Mr. Lovett," Rose said softly, but firmly. "I know how hard it is for people who care greatly for money to give some away."

Bodine gave her a skeptical look. "You don't want anything?"

Rose pointed at the drawing. "You may give me this, if anything I tell you is of value."

Brock considered it for a moment before nodding. "Deal." He, then, crossed the room. "Over here are a few things we've recovered from your staterooms. Laid out on a worktable are fifty or so objects, from mundane to valuable."

Rose, shrunken in her chair, could barely see over the tabletop. With a trembling hand, she lifted a tortoiseshell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. She caressed it wonderingly.

"This was mine. How extraordinary! It looks the same as the last time I saw it." She turned the mirror over and looked at her ancient face in the cracked glass. "The reflection has changed a bit."

She spied something else, a silver and moonstone art-nouveau brooch. "My mother's brooch. She wanted to go back for it. Caused quite a fuss."

Rose picked up an ornate art-nouveau hair comb. A jade butterfly took flight on the ebony handle of the comb. She turned it slowly, remembering. It was easy to see that Rose was experiencing a rush of images and emotions that have lain dormant for eight decades as she handles the butterfly comb.

Brock looked at her with different eyes before glancing back at his sister who nodded at him in encouragement.

"Are you ready to go back to Titanic?"

After quite some bragging from Bodine as he showed the inside of the Titanic through Snoop Dog's pov, Brock finally got the courage to ask her what he wanted to know when Rose thanked the burly, bragging man.

"Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine. Of course, the experience of it was somewhat less clinical."

"Will you share it with us?" Brock asked.

Her eyes went back to the screens, showing the sad ruins far below them. A view from one of the subs tracking slowly over the Boat Deck. Rose recognized one of the Wellin davits, still in place. She heard ghostly waltz music. The faint and echoing sound of an officer's voice, English accented, calling "Women and children only". Flash cuts of screaming faces in a running crowd. Pandemonium and terror. People crying, praying, kneeling on the deck. Just impressions... flashes in the dark.

Rose looked at another monitor. Snoop Dog was moving down a rusted, debris-filled corridor. Rose watched the endless row of doorways sliding past, like dark mouths. The image of a child, three years old, standing ankle deep in water in the middle of an endless corridor popped into her ancient memory. The child was lost alone, crying. Rose was shaken by the flood of memories and emotions. Her eyes welled up and she put her head down, sobbing quietly.

"I think you should forget about that for now, Brock. She should take a load off," Avery said.

Lizzy sent her a grateful smile as she took the wheelchair. "I'm taking her to rest."

"No!" Rose protested. Her voice was surprisingly strong. The sweet little old lady was gone, replaced by a woman with eyes of steel.

Brock signaled everyone to stay quiet. "Tell us, Rose."

She looked from screen to screen, the images of the ruined ship. "It's been eighty-four years..."

"Just tell us what you can—"

Rose cut him off, holding up her hand for silence. "It's been eighty-four years... And I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in." Brock switched on the mini-recorder and set it near her.

"Titanic was called the  _Ship of Dreams_ ," she continued, looking over at Avery. "And it was. It really was..."

Avery suddenly felt nauseous. "Excuse me," she blurted, running out of the lab deck before anyone can stop her.

She ran until she reached a random rail and leaned against it, for support. At times like these, she knew she needed either Brock or Anna, but Brock was currently all eyes and ears to his three-year obsession, and Anna wasn't on the ship with them. She was sweating, and she felt hot and cold as her heart pounded louder and louder by the second. She felt like she had felt all those years ago when her feelings and thoughts had overwhelmed to the point where she had jumped off a bridge.

"You know," a soft voice said from behind her. "A lot of bad things can happen to someone when it comes to love. But there is always a worst to everything, isn't there?"

Avery spun around, only to see Rose sitting there in her wheelchair. Lizzy and Brock were walking away, already quite far from them. She returned her gaze to the ancient woman, slightly calming herself down.

"What is it?" she asked the lady, slightly curious.

"The worst thing that can happen to someone, when it comes to love, is falling in love in a dream..."

and that's when she felt it.

That familiar feeling, like she was falling. She  _was_  falling.

She would've screamed as she dropped through the open air like a meteor, but her voice was caught up in her throat. The wind resisted, trying vainly to fight the unconquerable gravity, pushing against her and twirling her in spirals like a rocket crashing to the earth.

Her head pounded as she sliced through the surface of the water. It was icy, colder than I'd feared, and yet the chill only added to the high. She let all thought leave her mind as she plunged deeper into the freezing black water.

It felt like the usual calm waves were fighting over her, jerking her back and forth between them as if determined to share by pulling her into halves. All the air left her lungs and was replaced by water. Cold, salty water. Then... nothing.

Fortunately, feeling soon came back to her.

How disorienting. She'd been sure she was sinking.

The current wouldn't let up. It was slamming her against more rocks; they beat against the center of her back sharply, rhythmically, pushing the water from her lungs. It gushed out in amazing volume, absolute torrents pouring from her mouth and nose. The salt burned her lungs, and her throat was too full of water to catch a breath and the rocks, or whatever it is she was feeling, were hurting her back.

Somehow she stayed in one place, though the waves still heaved around her. She couldn't see anything but water everywhere, reaching for her face.

"Breathe!" a voice, wild with anxiety, ordered, and she felt a cruel stab of pain when she could yet couldn’t recognize the voice because it sure as hell wasn’t Brock’s.

She could not obey. The waterfall pouring from her mouth didn't stop long enough for her to catch a breath. The black, icy water filled her chest, burning.

The rock smacked into her back again, right between her shoulder blades, and another volley of water choked its way out of her lungs.

The voice kept on begging. "Breathe, Rose! Come on!"

 _Rose?_  No one but Brock called her that, and even when he did, it was only rarely. He usually called her Avery, Ave or Roe, and he was the only one, besides Anna, to actually know of her middle name, so who was calling her so?

Black spots bloomed across her vision, getting wider and wider, blocking out the light.

The rock struck her again.

The rock wasn't cold like the water; it was hot on her skin. She then realized it was a hand, trying to beat the water from her lungs. The iron bar that had dragged her from the sea was also… warm… Her head whirled, the black spots covered everything...

Was she dying again, then? She didn't like it— this wasn't as good as the last time. It was only dark now, nothing worth looking at here. The sound of the crashing waves faded into the black and became a quiet, even whoosh that sounded like it was coming from the inside of her ears...

"Rose?" the voice— a man’s voice asked, still tense, but not as wild as before. "Rose, love, can you hear me?"

The contents of her head swished and rolled sickeningly like they'd joined the rough water...

"How long has she been unconscious?" someone else asked.

The voice shocked her, jarred her into a more focused awareness.

Avery realized that she was still. There was no tug of the current on her— the heaving was inside her head. The surface under her was flat and motionless. It felt grainy against her bare arms.

"I don't know," the man reported, still frantic. His voice was very close. Hands— so warm yet so cold— brushed the wet hair from her cheeks. "A few minutes? It didn't take long to tow her to the bridge."

Avery was confused. What bridge? She fell off a  _ship_! Not a bridge. Yes, maybe she jumped off of one a few times before, but that was a long time ago. She had changed since that time, but that didn't stop her current confusion.

_What bridge?_

"Rose? Can you hear me?" the man asked again, softly.

"Rosalinda DeWitt Bukater, you open those eyes right now!" a new voice demanded, one that belonged to no  _man_. Avery could feel herself mentally rolling her eyes; whoever it was that demanding her to wake up while she was vaguely conscious was surely not going to be someone she would get along with.

Wait... DeWitt Bukater? Wasn't that the old lady's name, back on Kedysh?

Mentally shrugging the thought away, Avery coughed the rest of the water out of her lungs before moaning and groaning in slight pain and coldness. Her blue-green eyes fluttered, only to meet three strangers.

"Who the  _hell_  are you?"

"Rose!"

"What?" Avery snapped her head toward the annoying woman.

She was a middle-aged, fiery redheaded woman, with tight cheek-bones, thin eyebrows and long lashes that matched her head and surrounded her eyes perfectly. Her eyes. Avery felt nauseous.

"She must have hit her head when she jumped,” said one of the men she did not know. There were two, but from those three people, there was not one Avery knew, though the familiarity made her more and more nauseous.

"I did no such thing, you dimwit! and why in hell would I jump off of somewhere?!"

"Rose! What has gotten into you?"

"I’m freaking out! Isn’t that obvious?!" Avery exclaimed. "And stop calling me Rose— that is not my name, dammit!"

"Rose, watch your language," the redheaded woman scolded her.

Avery sent her a deathly glare. "Who do you think you are? My mother?"

The man whom she had just realized she was being held by cleared his throat. "Actually, she is."

Avery’s head snapped toward him and she stared at him for a moment before she turned to the woman and exclaimed, "YOU ARE  _NOT_  MY MOTHER!"

It might've been harsh, but... who can blame her? She just fell overboard, off a ship, only to end up near a bridge she doesn't know, with people she doesn't know, one of them claiming to be her mother.

Can't really expect her to say: "Hey, mama! I missed you so much!"

She didn't. This woman might've looked somewhat like an older version of herself— like Rose had— but Avery refused to believe that she, a woman from a completely different time, was her mother.

"Rose..."

Avery blinked repeatedly as she felt herself suddenly go lightheaded.

"Rose, are you alright?"

She wanted to snap. She wanted to punch something, yell at them and nothing, but she couldn't. Nothing made sense to her anymore.

First, the portrayal she drew of a young man she knew she never met yet found somewhat familiar. Then, Rose, a hundred-year-old woman, comes aboard the Kedysh, claiming she was the girl in a picture drawn over eighty years ago.

Finally, after barely exchanging a few phrases with the old lady who, for some unknown reason, shares the same strange eye color she's always had, she falls off the ship, feels like she's dying, only to be woken up by a man she does not know, another she does not know either, and a woman who looks like an older version of her self— though a slight less prettier and looks to be in her fifties— claims to be her mother, someone Avery never knew as she had grown up as an unwanted orphan.

Now, what's next? The man who had his arms around her will claim to be her fiancé? Speaking of which...

Shaking her head, Avery turned to look at the man who held her tightly yet gently. And although he had an aura around him that somewhat screamed 'rich and arrogant', he was a very handsome man. The kind she would've probably swooned over, with Anna, if it weren't for the fact that he looked twice her age. His wet, dark brown hair stuck to his forehead, a few locks falling over his hazel eyes.

"Who are  _you_?" Avery's voice had an edge to it, something she couldn't even distinguish herself. Dislike? Slight hatred? Disgust? She couldn't tell until she fought back a flinch when he brushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes. His eyes were filled with concern, though she completely ignored that when she heard the next five words that came out of his mouth.

"Caledon Hockley. I'm your fiancé."

Then she fainted.


	4. Holy shit...

Her eyes opened to a bright, white light. She was in an unfamiliar room, a white room. The wall beside her was covered in long silk-looking blinds; over her head, the glaring lights blinded her. She was propped up on a hard, uneven bed— a bed with rails. The pillows were flat and lumpy. Her blue-green orbs shifted throughout her surroundings and narrowed as she clenched her jaw. The last thing she could remember was exchanging a few words with the oddly familiar looking old lady before falling overboard the Kedysh.

But how was she still alive? The fall into the monstrous waves should've gotten her killed... And if she was dead... well, she was sure as heck that death shouldn't be this uncomfortable.

Her hands were all twisted up with clear tubes, and something was taped across her face, under her nose. She panicked as she realized exactly to what place she was. She lifted her hand and quickly yet painfully started ripping the tubes off, but that only made the beeping sound accelerate and beep annoyingly louder. She whimpered as she pushed herself up and tried to get off the bed, but just then the door burst open and many people dressed in white rushed in. Many hands grabbed her arms and tried to hold her down, but she didn't want to be held down. She wanted— needed air, space... she needed to be alone and free for once, especially after all the overwhelming things that had been happening to her lately.

"Rose! Calm down!"

"My n-name is n-not Rose..."

"Hold her down!"

"N-no! G-get away!"

"Rose, listen—"

She winced. "I'm not Rose... let go of me," she said, though her voice came out strangled.

"Calm down, Ro—"

"I'M NOT THIS STUPID ROSE, NOW LET GO OF ME!" she screamed, trashing around, but stopped when she felt something sharp, stiff and slender being shoved into her arm before everything went black again.

"Something's wrong with her..." she heard a voice say. It was distant yet somehow familiar. "I'm worried."

"So am I. I mean, did you see how she looked? And did you hear how she was trashing around... she had to get about seven doctors and four nurses in here to calm her down," another voice replied.

Sigh. "Do you think she would get better? By all means— we're leaving in a few days."

"I don't know."

She slowly opened her eyes and turned her head slightly, only for them to fall upon a dark-haired man and a redheaded woman. She had no idea who they were until the latter events. She quickly propped herself up into a sitting position and backed as far away from them as the bed made possible.

"Rose," they both said, rushing forward.

She clenched her jaw, her nostrils flaring through the tubes input in them. "I don't know if me backing away from you was too subtle, but take a hint people," she snapped, glaring at them. She lifted her hand and quickly yet painfully started ripping the tubes off, but that only made the beeping sound accelerate and beep annoyingly louder. She ignored it, her eyes never leaving them.

"First things first, where and when am I, because, by the way you're both dressed, I can only guess that we're not in ninety-six— we wear jeans."

They gave her a puzzled look though instantly looked away as her glare intensified. She groaned. "Well, it seems you won't be answering that, so I guess I'll just have to guess." She paused, thinking. "Sometime in the past... corsets... oldie blazer... dammit."

"April fourth," the man replied. "We're in Southampton, in England. We'll be boarding the ship to Philadelphia in a few days."

She gave him a blank look, blinking a few times before speaking. "Okay, to my second point: you are  _not_ my fiancé— I would know if I was getting married at seventeen." She turned to the woman. "And there is  _no way_  you are my mother. Thirdly— how in Loki's helmet did I get from North Ant to South... whatever in England?!" She was now slightly hyperventilating. "And what ship?!"

"Rose, calm—"

"I am not this Rose you speak of!" Avery snapped, glaring them down.

The man sighed. "We will be boarding the Titanic."

Avery froze. No. This couldn't be happening. The Titanic crashed over eighty years ago... but then, if what he was saying was true, then... that must mean that when she fell... she went back in time to...

"1912," she mumbled in shock, fear, and disbelief. She looked at both people and instantly understood. Rose, the old lady from the boat, she looked like Avery when she was young, so they must think that she's Rose.

"Holy shit..."

She knew that as long as she was there she would have to act like Rose, but the problem was: how was Rose? How did the Rose they knew act? Yes, Avery was polite when she needed to be, but, otherwise, she was rebellious most of the time. Could she be so? and not to forget— she would have to board the Titanic which would sink only four days later. Would she die then? Would that take her back to her time and place?

"Holy shit," she muttered under her breath as the tenth of April, 1912 finally came around.

That seemed to be the only thing she could say in the past six days through which she completely ignored her 'mother's' scolds. When she had first wrapped her head around the fact that she had somehow gone back in time and taken the place of another person, she had opted to be sharp towards everyone, especially after her first day. She had thought it would feel good to finally have a mother, but Ruth Bukater was just horrible. She was a snobby, materialistic and gold-digging woman; she was the one who targeted Caledon for 'Rose' so they could remain financially wealthy. Avery wasn't one to hate, but she could easily state Ruth as an exception. And Cal. Ugh! The man was like twice her age— she wasn't even at a legal age! That might've not had stopped her from trying to smoke and drink, but she did not want to marry a man at seventeen, especially one that was close in age to the man she called her brother. He didn't seem like such a bad man, despite his recurring attempts to flirt with her— something she was actually oblivious to— but he was still rich and arrogant.

The tenth of April was certainly not something Avery was looking forward to. In fact, the entire ordeal was what she was not looking forward to. She may have been suicidal in the past, but she did not want to die from a sinking ship— one she knew exactly when it would sink. She just wanted to go home, before she freaked again like she did when she'd landed in that time. The only bright side in it all was that she somehow fell there with her sketchbook, which contained all her latest drawings. That was the only thing that kept her sane.

In a glorious reveal, the gleaming white superstructure of Titanic rose mountainously beyond the rail, and above that the buff-colored funnels, which stood against the sky like the pillars of a great temple. Crewmen moved across the deck, dwarfed by the awesome scale of the steamer.

Southampton, England, April tenth, 1912. Indeed, as mentioned primarily, the day Avery dreaded the most since she realized in what time she had landed. It was almost noon on sailing day. A crowd of hundreds blackened the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich.

A gorgeous burgundy Renault touring car swung into frame, hanging from a loading crane. It was lowered toward the second hatch in the ship. On the pier horse-drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries moved slowly through the dense throng.

The atmosphere was one of excitement and general giddiness, though for Avery... she was dull and blank-faced. She wasn't drawing because her 'mother' believed it a waste of time, so Avery'd put her sketchbook into her handbag and opted for looking blankly out the window, ignoring the conversion that flowed between Caledon and Ruth. Her heart ached as her blue-green eyes sadly watched people embrace in tearful farewells, or wave and shout 'bon voyage' wishes to friends and relatives on the decks above.

A white Renault, leading a silver-gray Daimler-Benz pushed through the crowd, leaving a wake in the press of people. Around the handsome cars, people were streaming to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers, porters, and barking White Star line officials. The Renault stopped and the liveried driver scurried to open the door for a young woman dressed in a stunning white and purple outfit, with an enormous feathered hat. She was seventeen years old and beautiful, regal of bearing, with piercing blue-green eyes. It was indeed Avery, under the alias of Rose as no one would believe otherwise.

"Holy shit," Avery breathed out, subtly biting her lower lip as for Ruth not to notice as she looked up at the ship, taking it in with cool appraisal.

She softly cleared her throat and caught them off guard by finally speaking more than her latterly usual 'yes', 'no', 'maybe', 'I don't know' and 'holy shit'.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," she said, trying to seem unimpressed.

Although she managed so quite well, she had many emotions running through her veins as her heart pumped hard against her chest. She was dueling between the feeling of awe and fright, excitement, and sadness. She knew what was to happen to this beauty in a period of four days, and also that there was nothing she could do about it. Even if she didn't want to board this ship for its fate, she knew she couldn't run away; she'd probably— no, she  _would_  trip while trying to run in those heels Ruth had forced her into, fall and be force-carried onto the ship.

"It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania," she added with a hint of sarcasm.

A personal valet opened the door on the other side of the car for Caledon Hockley.

"You can be blasé about some things, Rose, but  _not_ about  _Titanic_. It's over a hundred feet longer than  _Mauretania_ and _far_ more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian cafe... even Turkish baths," he said, leaning forward, on his walking cane, with an amused smile. Avery, eye slightly twitching as she clenched her jaw, looked away from him to stare at the ship.

Caledon turned and held out his hand to Ruth, who descended from the touring car behind him. Ruth was a forty-ish (shockingly to Avery as she thought the woman was over fifty) society empress, from one of the most prominent Philadelphia families. She was a widow and ruled her household with iron will.

"Your daughter is much too hard to impress, Ruth," said Caledon before indicating a puddle of water. "Mind your step."

The woman gazed up at the leviathan. "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable," she remarked.

"It is unsinkable. God himself couldn't sink this ship." Caledon spoke with the pride of a host providing a special experience.

Avery could only fight back a snort and roll her eyes. "Yet it sunk four days later," she muttered, sighing as she shook her head. "Huh, story of my life."

This entire entourage of rich Americans was impeccably turned out, a quintessential example of the Edwardian upper class, complete with servants. Caledon's valet, Spicer Lovejoy, the other man that had been there when Avery landed in that time, was a tall and impassive, dour as an undertaker. Behind him emerged two maids, personal servants to Ruth and Avery, something else Avery hated. She'd grown up having to learn to do things for herself, and now she had to let people do things for her. It was slavery to her eyes, even though the servants were paid to serve them. She just didn't like the fact that all of them were treated as if they were nothing but trash. It was disgusting— disturbing to watch.

A White Star line porter scurried toward them, harried by last minute loading.

"Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way—"

Caledon nonchalantly handed the man a fiver. The porter's eyes dilated. Five pounds was a monster tip in those days.

"I put my faith in you, good sir," said Caledon. "See my man," he added curtly, indicating Lovejoy.

The porter nodded. "Yes, sir. My pleasure, sir."

Caledon was never tired of the effect of money on the unwashed masses.

"These trunks here," said Lovejoy to the porter. "And twelve more in the Daimler. We'll have all this lot up in the rooms."

The White Star man looked stricken when he saw the enormous pile of steamer trunks and suitcases loading down the second car, including wooden crates and steel safe. He whistled frantically for some cargo-handlers nearby who come running. Caledon breezed on, leaving the minions to scramble.

He quickly checked his pocket watch. "We'd better hurry. This way, ladies." He indicated the way toward the first class gangway. They moved into the crowd. Trudy Bolt, Avery's maid whom she had taken a liking to as she reminded her of Anna, hustled behind them, laden with bags of her mistress's most recent purchases... things too delicate for the baggage handlers.

Avery turned to Trudy with soft eyes. "My coat."

Trudy smiled. Avery was the only one in her household who was nice to her. "Right here, Miss."

Caledon led, weaving between vehicles and handcarts, hurrying passengers (mostly second class and steerage) and well-wishers. Most of the first class passengers were avoiding the smelly press of the dockside crowd by using an elevated boarding bridge, twenty feet above. They passed a line of steerage passengers in their coarse wool and tweeds, queuing up inside movable barriers like cattle in a chute. A Health officer examined their heads one by one, checking scalp and eyelashes for lice. They passed a well-dressed young man cranking the handle of a wooden Biograph "cinematograph" camera mounted on a tripod. Daniel Marvin (whose father founded the Biograph Film Studio) was filming his young bride in front of the Titanic. Mary Marvin stood stiffly and smiles, self-conscious.

"Look up at the ship, darling," said Daniel. "That's it. You're amazed! You can't believe how big it is! Like a mountain. That's great."

Mary Marvin, without an acting fiber in her body, did a bad Clara Bow pantomime of awe, hands raised.

Caledon was jostled by two yelling steerage boys who shoved past him. And he was bumped again a second later by the boys' father.

"Steady!!" Caledon hissed.

"Sorry squire!" the father apologized. The Cockney father pushed on, after his kids, shouting.

Caledon gritted his teeth in disgust. "Steerage swine. Apparently missed his annual bath."

"Honestly, Cal, if you weren't forever booking everything at the last instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family," Ruth huffed.

Avery rolled her eyes. "We  _are_ a squalid immigrant family," she mumbled, though no one heard her and for that she was grateful.

"All part of my charm, Ruth," said Caledon with a slight smirk. "At any rate, it was my darling fiancee's beauty rituals which made us late."

"You told me to change," Avery said plainly.

Caledon chuckled. "I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, sweet pea. It's bad luck."

Avery gave him a slight glare. "I felt like black."

Caledon guided them out of the path of a horse-drawn wagon loaded down with two tons of Oxford Marmalade, in wooden cases, for Titanic's Victualling Department.

"Here I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in her most luxurious suites... And you act as if you're going to your execution," said Caledon.

Avery looked up as the hull of Titanic loomed over them... a great iron wall, Bible black and sever. Caledon motions her forward, and she entered the gangway to the D Deck doors with a sense of overwhelming dread as she clutched the handbag containing her sketchbook— her sane keeper.

She suddenly stopped when she heard a familiar voice echo through her ears. " _It was the ship of dreams... to everyone else. To me it was a slave ship, taking me back to America in chains._ "

Caledon's hand closed possessively over Avery's arm. He escorted her up the gangway and the black hull of Titanic swallowed them, but she paid neither of them any mind as the voice continued.

" _Outwardly I was everything a well brought up girl should be. Inside, I was screaming_."

A screaming blast emerged from the mighty triple steam horns on Titanic's funnels, bellowing their departure warning.

The Titanic still towered above the terminal buildings like the skyline of a city, several blocks away. The steamer's whistle echoed across Southampton. A bit further was smoky inside of a pub. It was crowded with dockworkers and ship's crew. Just inside the window, a poker game was in progress. Four men, in working-class clothes, play a very serious hand.

Jack Dawson and Fabrizio De Rossi, both in their later teens, Jack being nineteen and Fabrizio now twenty, exchanged a glance as the other two players argued in Swedish. Jack was American, a lanky drifter with his hair a little long for the standards of the times. He was also unshaven, and his clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them. He was an artist and had adopted the bohemian style of art scene in Paris. He was also very self-possessed and sure-footed for nineteen, having lived on his own since fifteen. The two Swedes continued their sullen argument, in Swedish.

Jack looked between the men sitting at the table. A red-headed Irishman across from him, two Englishmen diagonal from him, Fabrizio to his left, and a Scotsman to his right. He glanced at each of them intensely before he glanced back down at his cards. In his hand, he held the ace of spades and the ace of hearts. As the Irishman started to flip cards over, Jack hid his grin. Bluffing was the name of the game when it came to poker and Jack was not about to give away that he could more than likely win easily.

Each man started to flip his cards over. When it finally reached Jack, he kept his face solemn as if he was going to lose. Slowly he flipped his own cards over.

"The moment of truth boys. Somebody's life's about to change." Fabrizio put his cards down. So did the Swedes. Jack held his close. "Let's see... Fabrizio's got niente. Olaf, you've got squat. Sven, uh oh... two pair... mmm." He turned to his friend. "Sorry Fabrizio."

"What sorry? What you got? You lose my money?? Ma va fa'n culo testa di cazzo—"  
  
"Sorry, you're not gonna see your mama again for a long time..." The red and black ace showed on the table, and a grin spread over Jack's face as he slapped a full house down on the table.  
  
"'Cause you're goin' to America!! Full house boys!"  
  
Fabrizio grinned largely. "Porca Madonna!! YEEAAAAA!!!"

The table exploded into shouting in several languages. Jack raked in the money and the tickets.

"Sorry boys," he said to the Swedes. "Three of a kind and a pair. I'm high and you're dry and..." He turned to Fabrizio. "...we're going to—"  
  
"L'AMERICA!!!" both men shouted.

Olaf balled up one huge farmer's fist. It looked like he was going to clobber Jack, but, instead, he swung round and punched Sven, who flopped backward onto the floor and sits there, looking depressed. Olaf forgot about Jack and Fabrizio, who were dancing around, and went into a rapid harangue of his stupid cousin.

Jack kissed the tickets, then jumped on Fabrizio's back and rode him around the pub. It's like they won the lottery.

"Goin' home... to the land o' the free and the home of the real hot-dogs! On the TITANIC!! We're ridin' in high style now! We're practically goddamned royalty, ragazzo mio!!" Jack exclaimed.

Fabrizio grinned. "You see? Is my destinio!! Like I told you. I go to l'America!! To be a millionaire!!" He turned to the pudkeeper. "Capito?? I go to America!!"

The pubkeeper shook his head. "No, mate. Titanic go to America. In five minutes."

Jack and Fabrizio shared a wide-eyed look. "Shit!! Come on, Fabri!" They grabbed their stuff. "Come on!!" He then looked at everyone, grinned madly. "It's been grand."

and with that, they ran for the door.

Jack and Fabrizio, carrying everything they own in the world in the kit bags on their shoulders, sprinted toward the pier. They tore through milling crowds next to the terminal. Shouts went up behind them as they jostled slow-moving gentlemen. They dodged piles of luggage and weaved through groups of people. They burst out onto the pier and Jack came to a dead stop... staring at the cast wall of the ship's hull, towering seven stories above the wharf and over an eighth of a mile long. The Titanic was monstrous. Fabrizio ran back and grabbed Jack, and they sprinted toward the third class gangway aft, at E deck. They reached the bottom of the ramp just as Sixth officer, Moody, detached it at the top. It started to swing down from the gangway doors.

"Wait!! We're passengers!" Jack called out to him. Flushed and panting, he waved the tickets.

"Have you been through the inspection queue?"  
   
Jack grinned. "Of course! Anyway, we don't have lice, we're Americans," he cheerfully lied, then glanced at Fabrizio. "Both of us."

Moody gave them both a suspicious look. "Right, come aboard."

He had Quartermaster Rowe reattach the gangway as Jack and Fabrizio came aboard. Moody glanced at the tickets, then passed Jack and Fabrizio through to Rowe.

Rowe looked at the names on the tickets to enter them in the passenger list. "Gundersen. And..." He read Fabrizio's. "Gundersen." He handed the tickets back, eyeing Fabrizio's Mediterranean looks suspiciously.

"Come on, Sven," said Jack, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him away. Jack and Fabrizio whooped in victory as they ran down the white-painted corridor... grinning from ear to ear.

"We are the luckiest sons of bitches in the world!" Jack shouted.

"I am the unluckiest bitch in the world," Avery muttered to herself as she tried hard to ignore Caledon and Ruth.

Was riches really all people talked about? Didn't they ever talk about world-wandering discoveries? Political changes in each country? The latest show they watched on televi—

Avery groaned at the latter thought as she remembered she was stuck in 1912; there was no television then. It wouldn't even become commercially available in a crude experimental form until the late 1920s, which is still a good eight years away from  _when_  she currently is. She felt like puking as she listened to the prideful conversation going on between the two people she had found herself disliking very much.

Jack and Fabrizio burst through a door onto the aft well deck, tracking with them as they run across the deck and up the steel stairs to the poop deck. They got to the rail and Jack started to yell and wave to the crowd on the dock.

Fabrizio gave him a skeptical look. "You know somebody?"

Jack snorted and shook his head. "Of course not. That's not the point." He turned to the crowd. "Goodbye! Goodbye!! I'll miss you!"

Grinning, Fabrizio joined in, adding his voice to the swell of voices, feeling the exhilaration of the moment. "Goodbye! I will never forget you!!"

The crowd of cheering well-wishers waved heartily as a black wall of metal moved past them. Impossibly tiny figures waved back from the ship's rails as Titanic gathered speed. The bow wave spread before the mighty plow of the liner's hull as it moved down the River Test toward the English Channel.

"It's moving," Avery mumbled panickingly to herself. She sent a grateful smile to Trudy when the latter placed a comforting hand on her arm.

By contrast, the so-called "Millionaire Suite" was in the Empire style, and comprised two bedrooms, a bath, WC, wardrobe room, and a large sitting room. In addition, there was a private fifty-foot promenade deck outside. A room service waiter poured champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and handed the Bucks Fizz to Avery.

She was looking, with Trudy whom she demanded to never leave her side, through the new paintings, and she would've lied if she said she didn't love them. Sure, she disliked luxurious objects unless they held historical and sentimental meaning, and her dislike widened if she'd received anything of that sort as a gift, but she had great masterpieces right before her eyes in one of the arts she loved the most. There was a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of dancers, and a few abstract works. They were all unknown paintings... lost works. Caledon was out on the covered deck, which had potted trees and vines on trellises, talking through the doorway to Avery in the sitting room.

"Those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money."

Avery looked at a cubist portrait. "You're wrong. They're fascinating. Like in a dream... there's truth without logic."

"What's the artist's name?" Trudy inquired curiously.

"Uh... something Picasso?"

Caledon looked at her, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Something Picasso?"

Avery fought back a blush and leaned forward read off the bottom of the canvas. "Well, I was right about the Picasso part," she mumbled.

Caledon chuckled as he fully entered the sitting room. "He'll never amount to a thing, trust me. At least they were cheap."

A porter wheeled Caledon's private safe, which Avery did not fail to recognize as the one they had found back on the Kedysh with her brother, into the room on a hand-truck.

"Put that in the wardrobe," Caledon instructed.

In the bedroom, Avery entered with the large Degas of the dancers. She set it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Trudy had already gone ahead, after questioning her over Picasso, in there, and was now hanging up some of Avery's clothes.

"It smells so brand new," Trudy said dreamily. "Like they built it all just for us. I mean... just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first—"

She cut herself off when Caledon appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

He looked at Avery and smirked teasingly. "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first."

Trudy blushed at the innuendo. "S'cuse me, Miss."

Before Avery could ask her not to leave, Trudy edged around Caledon and made a quick exit. Caledon came up behind Avery and put his hands on her shoulders. An act of possession, not intimacy and that disturbed her to no end, though she did not show it.

"The first and only. Forever," he said with a smile.

Avery's expression showed how bleak a prospect this was for her, even more, now.

Titanic stood, silhouetted against a purple post-sunset sky. She was lit up like a floating palace, and her thousand portholes reflect in the calm harbor waters. The 150 foot tender Nomadic lies-to alongside, looking like a rowboat. The lights of a Cherbourg harbor complete the postcard image.

At Cherbourg a woman came aboard named Margaret Brown, but we all called her Molly.

Entering the first class reception room from the tender are a number of prominent passengers, a broad-shouldered woman in an enormous feathered hat came up the gangway, carrying a suitcase in each hand, a spindly porter running to catch up with her to take the bags. Her name was Margaret Brown, but they all called her Molly. She was a tough-talking straight-shooter who dressed in the finery of her genteel peers, but would never be one of them.

The ship glowed with the warm creamy light of late afternoon. Jack and Fabrizio stood right at the bow gripping the curving railing. Jack leaned over, looking down fifty feet to where the prow cuts the surface like a knife, sending up two glassy sheets of water.

On the bridge, Captain Smith turned from the binnacle to first officer William Murdoch.

"Take her to sea Mister Murdoch," commanded Captain Smith. "Let's stretch her legs."

Soon, set-piece of music began to resonate throughout the vessel... an ode to the great ship. The music was rhythmic, surging forward, with a soaring melody that addresses the majesty and optimism of the ship of dreams. In the engine room, the telegraph clanged and moved to "All Ahead Full".

"All ahead full!" the engineer bell chief called out.

On the catwalk Thomas Andrews, the shipbuilder watched carefully as the engineers and greasers scrambled to adjust valves.

Towering above them were the twin reciprocating engines, four stories tall, their ten-foot-long connecting rods surging up and down with the turning of the massive crankshafts. The engines thundered like the footfalls of marching giants. In the boiler rooms, the stokers chanted a song as they hurled coal into the roaring furnaces. The "black gang" were covered with sweat and coal dust, their muscles working like part of the machinery as they toiled in the hellish glow.

Underwater the enormous bronze screws chopped through the water, hurling the steamer forward and churning up a vortex of foam that lingered for miles behind the juggernaut ship. Smoke poured from the funnels as the riven water flared higher at the bow as the ship's speed built. Captain Smith stepped out of the enclosed bridge onto the wing. He stood with his hands on the rail, looking every bit the storybook picture of a Captain... a great patriarch of the sea.

"Twenty-one knots, sir!" called out the first officer Murdoch.

"She's got a bone in her teeth now, eh, Mr. Murdoch." Smith accepted a cup of tea from fifth officer Lowe. He contentedly watched the white V of water hurled outward from the bows like an expression of his own personal power. They were invulnerable, towering over the sea.

At the bow Jack and Fabrizio leaned far over, looking down, the wind streaming through Jack's slightly long hair. In the glassy bow-wave, two dolphins appeared, under the water, running fast just in front of the steel blade of the prow. They did it for the sheer joy and exultation of motion. Jack watched the dolphins and grinned. They breached, jumping clear of the water and then dove back, crisscrossing in front of the bow, dancing ahead of the juggernaut. Fabrizio looked forward, across the Atlantic, staring into the sun sparkles.

"I can see the Statue of Liberty already." He grinned at Jack. "Very small... of course."

"She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel plates up," said J. Bruce Ismay, the Managing Director of White Star Line, indicating a handsome thirty nine-year-old Irish gentlemen to his right, Thomas Andrews, of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilders.

It was now the eleventh of April, only three more days before the fatal fate of the Titanic. They were assembled as a group for lunch that day. Ismay was seated with Caledon, Avery who was getting quite irritated of being called Rose, Ruth, Molly Brown and Thomas Andrews in the Palm Court, a beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.

Unlike many others, Andrews disliked such attention, which was something Avery quite liked about the man. He was the only other rich person, besides Molly, who Avery had become quite fond of.

"Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's," he said quickly, trying to get the attention away from him. "He was the one to have envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is..." He slapped the table. "... willed into solid reality."

"Why're ships always bein' called "she"?" Molly asked. "Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?" They all laughed and Avery, though she as hard as she tried, could not help the twitch on the corner of her lips, which curled up into the tiniest of smiles, you could barely call it one.

The waiter arrived to take orders and Avery, not wanting to let go of her rebellious facade she had accustomed herself since her first second in that time, lit a cigarette. She had done drugs at one point in her life and already drank, but, though curious as she had always been, she never got to feel the sensation one feels when they smoke. Plus, she had the cigarette right in front of her at the moment, so why not?

"You know I don't like that, Rose," Ruth said.

"She knows," Caledon replied. Avery was about to retort that she didn't care but only growled under her breath and glared when the man took the cigarette from her and stubbed it out before turning to the waiter. "We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce." He turned back to Avery after the waiter moved away. "You like lamb, don't you sweet pea?"

Avery fought back a gag and an eye roll at that. She was not hopeless, even less useless. She was a Yon Dan (fourth-degree black belt) in karate, for Christ's sake! She could break her... _fiancé_ arm in a swift move if she wanted to.

Molly was watching the dynamic between Avery, Caledon, and Ruth. "So, you gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?" She then turned to Ismay. "Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?"

"Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury... And safety—"

"Do you know of Dr. Freud?" Avery suddenly asked, forcing a British accent into her voice as her 'mother' had one. "His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay." Andrews chocked on his breadstick, suppressing laughter.

Ruth looked at her, mortified. "My God, Rose, what's gotten into—"

"Excuse me," the seventeen-year-old cut her off as she got off her seat then stalked away.

"I do apologize," Ruth said once the young woman was gone.

Molly chuckled. "She's a pistol, Cal. You sure you can handle her?"

Caledon tensed, but feigned unconcern. "Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on."

Avery walked through the promenade, skimming through her sketchbook to calm herself as she gracefully strolled, ignoring the curious and few lustful glances she received. After a few more pages had been turned, she stopped on the last portrayal she had drawn before falling off the Kedysh and landing in 1912. Who was that man she'd drawn?

Jack sat on a bench in the sun. Titanic's wake spread out behind him to the horizon. He had his knees pulled up, supporting a leather-bound sketching pad, his only valuable possession. With a conté crayon, he drew rapidly, using sure strokes. An immigrant from Manchester named Cartmell had his five-year-old daughter Cora standing on the lower rung of the rail. She was leaned back against his beer barrel of a stomach, watching the seagulls.

The sketch captured them perfectly, with a great sense of the humanity of the moment. Jack was good. Really good. Fabrizio looked over Jack's shoulder and nodded appreciatively. Tommy Ryan, a scowling young Irish immigrant, watched as a crew member came by, walking three small dogs around the deck. One of them, a black French bulldog, was among the ugliest creatures on the planet.

"That's typical. First class dogs come down here to take a shit."

Jack looked up from his sketch. "That's so we know where we rank in the scheme of things."

Tommy scoffed. "Like we could forget."

Jack glanced across the well-deck. That was when he saw  _her_. At the aft railing of B deck promenade stood Avery, in a long yellow dress and white gloves, staring with furrowed brows into a book she carefully held in her hands.

He was unable to take his eyes off of her. They were across from each other, about sixty feet apart, with the well-deck like a valley between them. She, on her promontory, he, on his much lower one.

She sighed and looked up to stare down at the water, brows still furrowed. He watched her unpin her elaborate hat and take it off. She looked at the frilly absurd thing, then tossed it over the rail with a shudder, suppressing a grin as she watched it fall. It sailed far down to the water and was carried away, astern. A spot of yellow in the vast ocean. He was riveted by her. She looked like a figure in a romantic novel, sad and isolated. Fabrizio tapped Tommy and they both looked at Jack gazing at the beautiful young woman. Fabrizio and Tommy grinned at each other. Avery turned suddenly and looked right at Jack. He was caught staring, but he didn't look away. She did, but then looked back, eyes slightly widening in what he could decipher as shock and disbelief, as she quickly gazed down at the book in her hands before looking back up at him with the same wide eyes; he wasn't close enough to distinguish their color, but he could already tell they were stunningly piercing. Their eyes met across the space of the well deck, across the gulf between worlds. Jack saw a man come up behind her and take her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts. She immediately slammed her book close, as if there were personal things in there no one was to look at, and jerked her arm away. The man was about to argue with her, but stopped when he saw the puzzled and slightly frightened look on her face. He gazed down at the lower deck, trying to find what might've frightened her, but found nothing. Avery quickly used his distraction and gazed down at Jack once more.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed herself.

Fabrizio and Tommy looked at her surprised, not only by the fact that they were able to hear her at such distance but also by the foul language the higher class young woman just used before she quickly ran off, ignoring the fact that she was wearing heels and a dress. The man, Caledon, instantly went after her at a quick pace, disappearing along the A-deck promenade.

"Forget it, boyo," said Tommy, patting the young blond man. "You'd as like have angels fly out o' yer arse as get next to the likes o' her."

Jack could only stare after her in awe. " _Holy shit_..."


	5. Hanging by a thread

Avery sat in the first-class dining saloon, flanked by people in heated conversation. Caledon and Ruth were laughing together, while on the other side Lady Duff-Gordon was holding forth animatedly. To Avery, the sounds resonating from her surroundings barely reached her ears; she simply stared blankly at her plate and focused solely on it, trying hard to drown the inconsequential babble around her, though it was actually quite harder than it seemed. Beneath the table, her hand was holding a tiny fork from her crab salad. She poked the crab-fork into the skin of her arm, harder and harder until it drew blood.

Later that night, she walked along the B deck corridor at a quick pace. A steward came the other way and greeted her, and she nodded with a slight smile. She was perfectly composed.

Once she reached her door and entered her room, she felt even emptier than she'd felt earlier. She walked up to the middle of her suite and simply stood there, staring at her reflection in the large vanity mirror. Just stood there, then, with a primal, anguished cry she clawed at her throat, ripping off her pearl necklace, which exploded across the room. In a frenzy she tore at herself, her clothes, her hair... then attacked the room. She flung everything off the dresser and it flew clattering against the wall. She hurled a hand-mirror against the vanity, cracking it, then started looking around in panic, and cried out till the point where she could barely breathe.

"Trudy? Trudy," she cried out desperately, though she knew the girl wouldn't come. She needed her as she was the only person who would understand her and help her in such a situation even though she did not know of Avery's little time warp. She needed Trudy— anyone. She needed home... her _real_ home, where Brock and Anna were.

Knowing her cries would be of no avail, she ran out of her room and sprinted along the B deck promenade. She was disheveled, her hair flying. She was crying, her cheeks streaked with tears. But also angry, furious! Shaking with emotions she didn't understand... hatred, self-hatred, desperation. A strolling couple watched her pass, shocked at the emotional display in public.

On the 'poop deck,' as Tommy had put it earlier, Jack was kicked back on one of the benches, gazing at the stars blazing gloriously overhead, thinking artist thoughts and smoking a cigarette. Hearing something, he turned as Avery darted up the stairs from the well-deck.

They were the only two on the stern deck, except for Quartermaster Rowe, twenty feet above them on the docking bridge catwalk.

She didn't see Jack in the shadows and flew right past him. He watched with furrowed brows as she ran across the deserted fantail. Her breath hitched in an occasional sob, which she suppressed. Avery slammed against the base of the stern flagpole and clung there, panting. She stared out at the black water. Then started to climb over the railing. She had to hitch her long dress way up, and her climbing was clumsy.

Moving methodically she turned her body and got her heels on the white-painted gunwale, her back to the railing, facing out toward blackness. Sixty feet below her, the massive propellers were churning the Atlantic into white foam, and a ghostly wake trailed off toward the horizon.

 _This shouldn't be hard_ , she thought as she looked down below herself, where the huge letters of the name "TITANIC" were imprinted on the vessel. _I've done this many times before anyway. It's just a jump... like cliff diving_.

She leaned out, her arms straightening... looking down hypnotized, into the vortex below her. Her dress and hair were lifted by the wind of the ship's movement. The only sound, above the rush of water below, was the flutter and snap of the big Union Jack right above her.

"Don't do it."

"Gaah!" She whipped her head around at the sound of his voice. It took a second for her eyes to focus as she cursed in her mind. _Dammit! What is it with people stopping me all the time?!_

"Stay back!" she warned. "Don't come any closer!"

Jack saw the tear tracks on her cheeks in the faint glow from the stern running lights. "Take my hand. I'll pull you back in."

"No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go."

"No, you won't."

Avery glared back at him, somewhat offended. "What do you mean no I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me." _You don't know how many times I've done this before._

"You would have done it already," he deadpanned. "Now come on, take my hand."

Avery was confused now. She couldn't see him very well through the tears, so she wiped them with one hand, almost losing her balance.

"You're distracting me," she said, glaring again.

"That's kind of my intention," he replied with a sheepish look on his face, though she could not see it.

"Go away," she ordered. _God, now I really sound like a rich bitch..._

"I can't. I'm involved now," He watched her carefully. "If you let go I have to jump in after you," he concluded.

Avery scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Don't be absurd. You'll be killed."

He took off his jacket. "I'm a good swimmer." He started unlacing his left shoe.

She let out a dry laugh. "The fall alone would kill you. And let's not forget the propellers just waiting down there to cut through flesh." _God... I sound like a psycho._

"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest, I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold."

She looked down. The reality factor of what she was doing was sinking in. It didn't frighten her as this wasn't her first time, but she had never _jumped_ in the middle of the ocean— she fell, but that's beside the point.

"How cold?"

"Freezing," he said, taking off his left shoe. "Maybe a couple degrees over." He started unlacing his right shoe. "Ever been to Wisconsin?"

She was perplexed by the question. "Yes," she replied uncertainly.

"Well, then you know they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. Once when I was a kid me and my father were ice-fishing out on Lake Wissota... ice-fishing's where you chop a hole in the—"

"I know what ice fishing is!" she snapped. "Just because I'm wearing jewels, heels and a... one-piece... garment that covers the body and extends down over the legs—"

"It's called a dress," he cut in, amused.

"— a dress, does not mean I don't know what ice-freakin'-fishing is!"

"Sorry. Just... you look like kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I went through some thin ice and I'm tellin' ya, water that cold... like that right down there... it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain." He took off his other shoe. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."

"You're crazy."

Jack shrugged. "That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship."

She thought for a moment then groaned. "Touché, brother, touché," she muttered.

He slid one step closer, like moving up on a spooked horse. "Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand."

Avery stared at this madman for a long time. She looked at his eyes and they somehow suddenly seemed to fill her universe, and she somewhat knew that it was not only because he was the mysterious man she had drawn.

"Alright," she blurted out, her voice small and barely audible. She unfastened one hand from the rail and reached it around toward him.

He reached out to take it, firmly. "I'm Jack Dawson."

Avery nodded, her breath almost caught in her throat at the sudden electricity that ran through her as her hand touched his. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dawson," she said in a quavering voice.

Avery started to turn. Now that she had decided to live, unlike the many times before, the height was terrifying. She was overcome by vertigo as she shifted her footing, turning to face the ship. As she started to climb, her dress got in the way, and one foot slipped off the edge of the deck. She plunged, letting out a piercing shriek. Jack, gripping her hand, was jerked toward the rail. Avery barely grabbed a lower rail with her free hand. Quartermaster Rowe, up on the docking bridge heard the scream and headed for the ladder.

"I've got you," Jack said, urgently, trying to calm her. Surprisingly, despite her scream, she wasn't panicking as much as your normal rich woman would, or anybody, for that matter. "I won't let go."

Jack held her hand with all his strength, bracing himself on the railing with his other hand. Avery tried to get some kind of foothold on the smooth hull. Jack tried to lift her bodily over the railing. She couldn't get any footing in her dress and evening shoes, and she slipped back. Avery screamed again as Jack, awkwardly clutching her by whatever he could get a grip on as she flailed, got her over the railing. They fell together onto the deck in a tangled heap, spinning in such a way that Jack winded up slightly on top of her.

Rowe slid down the ladder from the docking bridge like it's a fire drill and sprints across the fantail. "Here, what's all this?!"

Rowe ran up and pulled Jack off of Avery, revealing her disheveled and sobbing on the deck. Her dress was torn, and the hem was pushing up above her knees, showing one ripped stocking. He looked at Jack, the shaggy steerage man with his jacket off, and the first class lady clearly in distress, and started drawing conclusions. Two seamen chug across the deck to join them.

"Here you, stand back!" Rowe warned Jack. "Don't move an inch!" He then turned to the seamen. "Fetch the Master at Arms."

A few minutes later, Jack was being detained by the burly Master at Arms, the closest thing to a cop on board. He was handcuffing Jack. Caledon was right in front of Jack, and furious. He had obviously just rushed out there with Lovejoy and another man, and none of them had coats over their black-tie evening dress. The other man was Colonel Archibald Gracie, a mustachioed blowhard who still had his brandy snifter. He offered it to Avery, who was hunched over crying on a bench nearby while hating herself for doing so in public, but she waved it away. Caledon was more concerned with Jack.

He grabbed him by the lapels. "What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancée?!" Avery just wanted to puke right there. "Look at me, you filth! What did you think you were doing?!"

Pushing away the nausea, Avery wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "Cal, stop! It was an accident."

"An accident?!" he retorted.

Avery nodded, shifting her eyes between each man in company, awkwardly. "Yeah... uh... I mean, yes, it was... stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped." Avery looked at Jack, getting eye contact. "I was leaning way over, to see the... ah... propellers. And I slipped and I would have gone overboard... And Mr. Dawson here saved me and he almost went over himself."

Caledon gave her a skeptical look. "You wanted to see the propellers?"

Colonel Gracie shook his head. "Women and machinery do not mix."

Avery's jaw clenched as the Master at Arms spoke to Jack. "Was that the way of it?" Avery quickly looked over at Jack and literally begged him with her eyes not to say what really happened.

"Uh huh. That was pretty much it." He looked at Avery a moment longer. Now they have a secret together.

"Well! The boy's a hero then. Good for you son, well done!" The Colonel turned to Caledon. "So it's all's well and back to our brandy, eh?"

Jack was un-cuffed. Caledon got Avery to her feet and moving. "Let's get you in. You're freezing," he murmured as he rubbed her arms, much to her dismay.

Caledon was leaving without a second thought for Jack when the Colonel interrupted him in a low voice. "Ah... perhaps a little something for the boy?"

Caledon looked back and sighed. "Oh, right. Mr. Lovejoy. A twenty should do it."

Avery gave the older man a disbelieving look. "Is that the going rate for saving the woman you... you _love_?"

Caledon looked down at her and sighed when he saw how upset he'd made her. "Rose is displeased. Mmm... what to do?" Caledon turned back to Jack and appraised him condescendingly... a steerage ruffian, unwashed and ill-mannered. "I know. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?"

Jack looked straight at Avery who gave Caledon a suspicious look. "Sure," he said as the young woman locked eyes with him. He could now see they were indeed stunningly piercing, being strange yet beautiful blue-green ocean eyes. "Count me in."

Hiding the disappointment of the third-class man's answer, Caledon cleared his throat. "Good. Settled then." He turned to go, putting a protective arm around Avery, and he leaned close to Gracie as they walked away. "This should be amusing."

Jack stopped Lovejoy as he passed. "Can I bum a cigarette?"

Lovejoy smoothly drew a silver cigarette case from his jacket and snapped it open. Jack took a cigarette, then another, popping it behind his ear for later. Lovejoy lit Jack's cigarette. "You'll want to tie those." Jack looked at his shoes. "Interesting that the young lady slipped so mighty all of a sudden and you still had time to take of your jacket and shoes. Mmmm?"

Lovejoy's expression was bland, but the eyes were cold. He turned away to join his group.

In her bedroom, Avery was undressing for bed when she saw Caledon standing in her doorway, reflected in the cracked mirror of her vanity.

He came toward her. "I know you've been melancholy," he said in an unexpectedly tender voice. "And I don't pretend to know why." From behind his back, he handed her a large black velvet jewel case, which she took it, numbly. "I intended to save this till the engagement gals next week. But I thought tonight, perhaps a reminder of my feeling for you..." He trailed off as Avery slowly opened the box.

Inside was the necklace... _Heart of The Ocean_ in all its glory. It was huge... a malevolent blue stone glittering with an infinity of scalpel-like inner reflections.

Avery was flabbergasted. "My God... Cal. Is it a—"

"Diamond. Yes, it is. Fifty-six carats." He took the necklace and during the following places it around her throat. He turned her to the mirror, staring behind her. "It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth. They call it Le Coeur de la Mer, the—"

"The Heart of the Ocean. Cal, it's... it's overwhelming."

He gazed at the image of the two of them in the mirror. "It's for royalty. And _we_ are royalty." His fingers caressed her neck and throat, causing her to shiver. He seemed himself to be disarmed by Avery's elegance and beauty. His emotion was, for the first time, unguarded. "There's nothing I couldn't give you. There's nothing I'd deny you if you would deny me."

She did not reply, so he went on. "Open your heart to me, Rose."

And with that, he left her to herself and her own thoughts as she stared at the diamond resting on her chest.

The was indeed beautiful. Heavy, but beautiful, yet she couldn't help but feel as though the gift was only to reflect light back onto himself, to illuminate the greatness that was Caledon Hockley. It was a cold stone... a heart of ice. The beauty could not surpass the hatred that had started to bubble up inside her chest.

She took off the necklace, left it on a nightstand, then grabbed a coat and headed out again. She walked along the deck and felt her lip slightly curl up when a seagull flew up to the rail beside her. She slowly approached and lifted a hand, hesitantly reaching forward to pet it, though took a step back when it spread its wings for a moment as if trying to threaten her. She stood there for a moment, eyebrow raised at the bird, and waited for it to calm down. Once it did, she reached forward again and, this time, she did smile when the seagull let her pet its head. She pet it for a moment before picking it up and holding it against her chest, still petting its head.

She chuckled softly when the seagull leaned its head into her chest. "Brock did always say that I was some sort of animal whisperer... especially when I tamed that rabid dog that was trying to attack him a while back," she mused, smiling softly as she reminisced the memory.

She sighed. "I miss Brock. And Anna..." She sighed again. "I just want to go home."

Jack walked along the stern deck, smoking the cigar Lovejoy had given him, though his steps slowed down when he heard a familiar voice not too far ahead.

"I wonder... will I ever get back? I mean, it's going to be a week... And then the ship! God dammit! Why did I have to end up on a ship that's gonna be killed by an ice cube?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. Why was she out here again? Why was she, a young first-class lady, swearing so much? Why did her accent change from earlier that night to now? And who was she talking to?

Avery placed the seagull back on the rail, softly chuckling a bit. "I must look insane, ranting to a seabird." The Laridae tilted its head to the side, watching her. "Ugh, you're giving me that look... I don't know what that look is, but I bet it's you agreeing with me on the whole 'looking insane.'"

Jack chuckled, watching her from the shadows as she sighed. "I feel like I'm hanging by a thread." She pursed her lips as the seagull kept watching her. She stepped beside it and leaned forward on the rail, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Not like earlier... or the many other times before that... God, I need a psychiatrist." Jack chuckled again, leaning against a wall.

Avery looked at the seagull as it gently pecked her arm. "Okay, okay, you're my psychiatrist... for now. At least until I get back home and find someone who can actually answer me with words, not pecks."

It pecked her again, though this time, on the cheek, causing her to laugh softly. "I'm guessing you want me to elaborate." The seagull squawked softly, causing her to laugh again before sighing. "I feel... unstable... not like I never wasn't. I'm stuck in a situation where it seems like the only way out would be jumping off the ship."

Jack tensed.

"I mean... that's how I landed here. 1912... ha! Can you imagine that?" She sighed again then laughed softly again. "It seems like I'm sighing a lot lately. Though you can't really blame me. I'd much rather be watching a movie with Anna than standing on this boring ship with nothing to do. I would draw, but stupid Caledon is in the room. I can't let him find out about _the_ drawing." She groaned. "God, I'd be six feet deeper underground if anything else happens badly."

She was silent for a moment, Jack still watching. He felt like a creeper, just looking at her while she was completely unaware of his presence. No one could blame him for wanting to watch her though; she was much more beautiful to his eyes than any precious jewel in the world.

"I remember the first time a saw a rainbow..." she mumbled, running her free hand through her dark, reddish brown hair locks. It was random, but she didn't care. She was talking to a bird!

"It was the first time Brock took me on a ship. We went to Niagara Falls. It was beautiful."

"Rainbows... they're real beauties." She turned to look at the seagull and watched, amused, as it closed its eyes in delight when she pet him again. " _Somewhere over the rainbow... way up high_ ," she started singing softly. _"And the dreams that you dreamed of, once in a lullaby._ "

She pulled the bird toward her and hugged it to her chest. " _Somewhere over the rainbow... blue birds fly._ " The gull squawked angrily as if to remind her that it wasn't blue. She laughed, kissing its head softly. _"And the dreams that you dreamed of, dreams really do come true ooh oh._ " She looked at the bird. "Good night... Laridae," she whispered, removing her arms from the creature. It squawked again before flying off.

She sighed. "If only us humans were just as free." She slowly spun on her heels and starting making her way back, not hearing the shuffling of a certain pair of feet, not so far away, as she kept singing, hands wrapped around herself as her coat did not have any pockets like those in her time. " _Someday I'll wish upon a star, wake up where the clouds are far behind me, where trouble melts like lemon drops, high above the chimney tops, that's where you'll find me..._ "

Jack could only watch in awe as the young lass glided away.

The next day, Saturday, the thirteenth of April, the only thing Avery could think about was how the sunlight felt. Pass the end of the enclosed promenade, Avery stepped into the sunshine, stunningly dressed as she gracefully walked with purpose.

She unlatched the gate to go down into third class, ignoring the steerage men on the deck who stopped what they were doing and stare at her, puzzled by her actions.

The social center of steerage life. It was stark by comparison to the opulence of first class but was a loud, boisterous place. There were mothers with babies, kids running between the benches yelling in several languages and being scolded in several more. There were old women yelling, men playing chess, girls doing needlepoint and reading dime novels.

It was Avery's kind of place... well, at least it was in her world. It was the kind of atmosphere she grew up in, the kind she was more familiar with than the stupid first-class snobs she got stuck with.

There was even an upright piano and Tommy Ryan was noodling around it. Three boys, shrieking and shouting, were scrambling around chasing a rat under the benches, trying to whomp it with a shoe and causing general havoc. Jack was playing with five-year-old Cora Cartmell, drawing funny faces together in his sketchbook. Fabrizio was struggling to get a conversation going with an attractive Norwegian girl, Helga Dahl, sitting with her family at a table across the room.

"No Italian? Some little English?"

Helga smiled apologetically. "No, no. Norwegian. Only."

Helga's eye was then caught by something. Fabrizio looked, did a take... And Jack, curious, followed their gaze to see... Avery, coming toward them. The activity in the room stopped... a hush fell. Avery suddenly felt self-conscious as the steerage passengers stared openly at this princess, some with resentment, others with awe. She spotted Jack and gave a little smile, walking straight to him.

He rose to meet her, smiling.

"Hello, Jack."

Fabrizio and Tommy were floored. It was like the slipper fitting Cinderella. Though, they did not fail to see that little something twinkle in her eyes as she tried her best not to look at anyone else in the room. Was it... grief? Sadness? Pain? Why would _she_ feel such things for these people who were considered to be ants at her feet?

"Hello again," said Jack, smile still on his face.


	6. Not from here...

_Fabrizio looked, did a take... And Jack, curious, followed their gaze to see... Avery, coming toward them. The activity in the room stopped... a hush fell. Avery suddenly felt self-conscious as the steerage passengers stared openly at this princess, some with resentment, others with awe. She spotted Jack and gave a little smile, walking straight to him._

_He rose to meet her, smiling._

_"Hello, Jack."_

_Fabrizio and Tommy were floored. It was like the slipper fitting Cinderella. Though, they did not fail to see that little something twinkle in her eyes as she tried her best not to look at anyone else in the room. Was it... grief? Sadness? Pain? Why would she feel such things for these people who were considered to be ants at her feet?_

_"Hello again," said Jack, smile still on his face._

The seventeen-year-old girl felt her heart clench. "Could I speak to you in private?" She had to fight the urge to gag; she hated speaking so properly, especially in an accent she'd never had.

"Uh, yes. Of course. After you." He motioned her ahead and followed. Jack glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, as he walked out with her, leaving a stunned silence.

Jack and Avery walked side by side. They passed people reading and talking in steamer chairs, some of whom would curiously glance at the mismatched couple. He felt out of place in his rough clothes, though a little less when she noticed she didn't seem to mind it.

"So, you got a name by the way?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence, which had settled upon them for different reasons.

"Ave— Rose. Rose... De...Witt... Bukater."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are ya sure? 'Cause you don't seem..."

"I'm sure," she quickly replied, an edge of curtness in her tone. "Rose DeWitt Bukater," she repeated, as though to not forget it again.

Both eyebrows raised now as he took in the name. "Well, then that's quite a moniker. I may hafta get you to write that down."

There was an awkward pause.

Avery cleared her throat. "Mr. Dawson, I—"

"Jack."

"—  _Jack_... I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you."

He smiled. "Well, here you are."

She let out a small chuckle. "Yeah— I mean,  _yes_ ," she quickly corrected herself, making sure she could pour in a much Britishness she could muster into her accent. "Here I am. I... I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for... for pulling me back. But for your discretion."

"You're welcome, Rose."

Avery sighed. "Look, I know what you must be thinking," she said, fighting back a frown. " _'Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?'_ "

Jack shook his head. "That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was... what could have happened to hurt this girl so much she thought she had no way out."

 _God, if only you knew_ , she thought, feeling even more miserable than before.

"I... It's a long... a  _very_  long story."

Jack gave her a curious look, then shrugged. "I have time."

She swallowed hard. "No, you  _really_  don't wanna— want to know." She bit her lip as she watched his face grow more and more curious. "And I am almost one hundred percent sure you will think I am crazy and won't believe a word I am saying," she added.

He looked at the beautiful girl for a moment, unsure of what to say; all she knew was that he wanted to get to know her, now more than ever as it seems to be his only chance. "Don't be so quick to assume things, Rose, tell me and I'll listen," he encouraged.

Her eyes, which Jack could now see were a piercing blue-green color, the green looking more like specks contrasting over the ocean blue color, were unreadable as they stared at him. Though hard to read, he could tell she was internally debating with herself, considering whether she should tell him or not.

She let out a small breath. "Alright, I will tell you," she said, making him fight back a smile. "But," he braced himself, "you have to promise me you won't tell anybody about this."

This time, he did smile. "Of course, I promise."

Letting out another breath, Avery nodded, brows furrowed as they looked over at the water sparkling under the sun. "Good... that's good... okay, um... well, first of all, my name is  _not_  Rose." He raised an eyebrow, though she quickly continued. "My name is Avery. Avery Rosalinda Lovett."

He was confused now. "But you're—"

"I know, I'm here on a cruise ship with a rich man and woman, trying really hard to blend in with the first class, and trust me, that is hard as hell," she cut him off. She hadn't realized she'd reverted back to her own American accent until he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And I am so  _not_  from England, or wherever those people are from."

Jack blinked, not sure what to say. That made Avery groan.

"See? I knew you'd think I'm crazy."

Jack quickly shook his head. "No, no. It's just... I'm still rather confused. You speak of your family as if they weren't your family."

Avery sighed as she walked over to the rail and stared off into the sea. "That's because they're  _not_." She was silent for a moment, and all he did was stare at her in wonder.

She looked back at him and sighed. "Okay, here's the deal, I'm not from around here... I'm from a completely different place and time... literally. I don't know where I was actually born as I spent most of my life in an orphanage until a while back when I was finally taken under someone's wing." Her eyes had gained a sparkle in them he noticed they hadn't had before when she mentioned that someone.

"Who was it?"

She looked at him, eyes twinkling with what seemed like admiration for whoever had finally managed to make her happy. "His name is Brock. He... I guess it's safe to say he saved me from losing my sanity. He took me in about a year ago..." She paused, furrowing her brows. "Well, a year ago in my time. He really took up the role of a great older brother. I don't know if actual elder siblings are usually as great as him— the foster ones I'd had were horrible." She shuddered. "But he's awesome."

He looked at her and chuckled lightly at the appraising look on her face as she continued to subtly brag about her 'brother'.

"Brock Lovett is... a very passionate person. In fact, he's a treasure hunter. Quite the celebrity, actually. His most famous discovery was Spanish gold, though for the past three years he'd been—again, in my time— obsessively after the Heart of the Ocean."

She chuckled. "Since it was pretty much because of him that I started to become somewhat infatuated with the sea... in a weird way," she said, thinking of the last conversation she'd had with Anna about her loving it one moment, being ready to 'swim with the dolphins', then becoming seasick the next.

"I decided to come with him, but it was then and there that everything went overboard— literally. I fell off the ship and ended up in 1912 as the old lady I met onboard, whose name is, in fact, Rose DeWitt Bukater. Fortunately, I still look like myself... though I think I've gotten shorter... must be the heels."

She shook her head and looked over at her hands. "I'm still the same," she repeated. "It's just the name that changes... that, and I'm surrounded by people who think that I  _am_ Rose."

She sighed and shook her head again. "Now I have no idea what to do— how will I get back? Will I ever get back? I don't know because the possibility of this ship sinking is freakin' high!"

"So you basically wanted to end your life because the ship is likely to sink," Jack asked, snapping her out of her slightly panicked state.

Avery turned to look at him and gave him a disbelieving look. "Did you not listen to the life-long speech I just gave you?!"

He fought back a smile. "Of course I did."

"And you're overlooking it." She chuckled dryly. "Gee, thanks for making me waste my breath," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm as she shook her head and glared down at the water.

"I'm not overlooking it or ignoring it... I actually believe you."

Avery's head snapped back up and turned to look at him. "You do?" She gave him a wary look. "You're not just saying that to mess with me, are you? 'Cause, trust me, I've been there, done that... didn't exactly get the last laugh when I was taken into juvie."

"No, no, I do believe you," Jack reassured her.

She looked at him for a moment, studying his soft boyish features, which, now that she looked closely, she had drawn quite well. "Why?"

Jack shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "I guess it's because I saw the way you freaked out when you first saw me from this deck. You looked at me as if I were some sort of ghost... like you knew me, but didn't."

She pursed her lips, slightly hesitant, before bringing out a sheet from her small handbag. "That's because I didn't know you, but... apparently, some part of my mind somehow did," she said, unfolding the paper and handing it to him.

He looked at it, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he looked at the content on the sheet; it was a hand-drawn portrait of himself, his whole face, the drawing stopping at his shoulders.

"I have no idea why I drew that," Avery said, "but I did, and freaked out because I did that before any of this—" She motioned around them at the ship "— happened. And, then, when I saw you here... I mean, it was one thing landing in a completely different era, where women... rich women are actually forced to wear jewels, heels and a... one-piece... garment that covers the body and extends down over the legs—"

"Dress," he cut in, amused.

"— look, I hate these things, so don't correct me, okay?"

Jack chuckled, returning his surprised gaze to the portrait of himself.

"It's one thing landing in an era completely different from my own," she repeated. "But drawing a man I've never known in my time, then seeing him here... could you understand why one would freak out at something like this?"

Jack looked up at her again and nodded. He didn't know what it was like, but he somehow found himself understanding quite well her confusing rants.

"Look, I don't mind hanging out with... spending time with you. I mean, it's so much better than acting rich and all."

"But shouldn't being rich be easy for you?" Jack asked. "I mean, you did say your... brother is somewhat famous."

"Well, yeah, he is, but in our time, things between people are much more equal. I mean, sure, there are still some greedy rich brats, but not every wealthy person lets their wealth and power get to their heads. Brock and I sure didn't."

"So that's what drove you to want to jump?"

Avery's brows furrowed as she looked down at herself. "I don't... it wasn't just that one thing. I mean, sure, I wanted to go home, and I thought falling over the edge would probably take me back as falling was how I got here in the first place... but that wasn't the only thing. It was everything. It was them, it was their whole world. It reminded me of how trapped I used to be... Brock may have saved me from my recklessness, but I always still felt trapped at times. And being with them... being here, in this time... in this world— I was trapped in it, like an insect in amber."

She let out a sigh through her nose and continued. "I just had to get away... just run and run and run... And then I was at the back rail and there was no more ship... even the Titanic wasn't big enough. Not enough to get away from them. And before I'd really thought about it, I was over the rail. I was so furious. I'll show them. They'll be sorry!" 

Jack chuckled and nodded. "Uh huh. They'll be sorry. 'Course you'll be dead."

Avery sighed and lowered her head. "Oh, God, I am such a crazy idiot."

"That penguin last night, is he one of them?"

"Penguin? Oh, Caledon!" Avery shuddered. "He is them."

"Is he your boyfriend? I mean, you said you were from another... And then, you said you were Rose..."

She chuckled halfheartedly, then sighed miserably. "Worse I'm afraid." She showed him her engagement ring. A sizable diamond.

"Gawd look at that thing!" Jack exclaimed, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. "You would have gone straight to the bottom." 

They laughed together. A passing steward scowled at Jack, who was clearly not a first class passenger, but Avery just glared at him away.

"So you feel like you're stuck on a train you can't get off 'cause you're marryin' this fella."

"Yes, exactly! I mean, he's not even supposed to be my—" She shuddered. "— fiancé. He's supposed to be Rose's, but apparently, I am her." She sighed. "And I don't even know him— imagine how freaked I was when I learned I was engaged to him."

Jack looked at her for a moment before saying nonchalantly. "So don't marry him."

Avery chuckled dryly. "If only it were that simple."

"It is that simple," he deadpanned.

"Oh, Jack... please don't judge me until you've seen the world I'm stuck in."

He gave a lopsided grin. "Well, I guess I will tonight."

Looking for another topic, any other topic, she indicated a book she just noticed he'd been holding. "What's this?"

Jack shrugged modestly. "Just some sketches." He held out the one she had drawn of him, actually wanting to keep it, but it was hers.

Avery's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You draw too?" Her eyes suddenly had a twinkle in them. He nodded still holding the portrait of himself out to her. "You can keep it." She'd waved it away, eyes still on his sketchbook. "May I?"

The question was rhetorical because she had already grabbed the book. He raised his eyebrows, as he folded his self-portrait and put it into the pocket of his pants, at her boldness. 

Avery wasn't usually so bold— these sketches could've been something personal, something he didn't want to share, but, seeing as she'd literally told him her life— of course leaving a few details out, like trying to kill herself numerous of times— she felt as though she could act however she wanted with him. Be a part of herself she'd only ever been with Becca, Rhianna, Brock, and Anna.

She sat on a deck chair and opened the sketchbook. On Jack's sketches... each one held an expressive little bit of humanity: an old woman's hands, a sleeping man, a father, and daughter at the rail. The faces were luminous and alive. 

His book was a celebration of the human condition.

"Jack..." She was stunned. "These are great! Really, they are."

"Well, they didn't think too much of 'em in Paree." 

Some loose sketches fell out and were taken by the wind. Jack scrambled after them... catching two, but the rest were gone, over the rail.

Avery's eyes widened, then shrunk in guilt. "Oh no! Oh, I'm so sorry."

Jack sighed, then shrugged. "S'alright." He snapped his wrist, shaking his drawing hand in a flourish. "I just seem to spew 'em out. Besides, they're not worth a damn anyway." For emphasis, he threw away the two he caught. They sailed off.

Avery laughed. "You're deranged!" She went back to the book, turning a page. "Well, well..."

She had come upon a series of nudes. Avery was transfixed by the languid beauty he had created. His nudes were soulful, real, with expressive hands and eyes. They were more like portraits than studies of the human form... almost uncomfortably intimate. Avery blushed, raising the book as some strollers went by.

Trying to be very adult, she said, "And these were drawn from life?"

Jack nodded. "Yup. That's one of the great things about Paris. Lots of girls willing take their clothes off."

She studied one drawing in particular, the girl posed half in sunlight, half in shadow. Her hands laid at her chin, one furled and one open like a flower, languid and graceful. The drawing was like an Alfred Stieglitz print of Georgia O'Keefe.

"You liked this woman. You used her several times."

Jack shrugged. "She had beautiful hands."

Avery smirked teasingly. "I think you must have had a love affair with her..."

Jack laughed. "No, no! Just with her hands."

Avery looked up from the drawings. "You have a gift, Jack."

"So do you," he replied, making her blush and shake her head modestly.

"No, but seriously, you do. You see people."

"I see you."

There it was. That piercing gaze again.

"And...?"

"You wouldn'ta jumped."

They continued to stare at each other, neither looking away nor wanting to, as realization about what he'd just said slowly overtook Avery, the fact that he might be right engulfing her tighter.

Maybe  _this_ time she really wouldn't have jumped.

Ruth was having tea with Noel Lucy Martha Dyer-Edwardes, the Countess of Rothes, a thirtyish English blue-blooded with patrician features.

Ruth saw someone coming across the room and lowered her voice. "Oh no, that vulgar Brown woman is coming this way. Get up, quickly before she sits with us."

Molly Brown walked up, greeting them cheerfully as they were rising. "Hello girls, I was hoping I'd catch you at tea."

"We're awfully sorry you missed it." Ruth feigned disappointment. "The Countess and I are just off to take the air on the Boat Deck."

Molly smiled. "That sounds great. Let's go. I need to catch up on the gossip."

Ruth gritted her teeth as the three of them headed for the Grand Staircase to go up. Tracking with them, as they crossed the room, the shot hands off to Bruce Ismay and Captain Smith at another table.

"So you've not lit the last four boilers then?" asked Ismay.

"No, but we're making excellent time," answered Smith.

"Captain, the press knows the size of Titanic," said Ismay, almost impatiently. "Let them marvel at her speed too. We must give them something new to print. And the maiden voyage of Titanic must make headlines!"

"I prefer not to push the engines until they've been properly run in," denied the Captain.

"Of course I leave it to your good offices to decide what's best, but what a glorious end to your last crossing if we get into New York Tuesday night and surprise them all." Ismay slapped his hand on the table. "Retire with a bang, eh, E.J?"

A beat. Then Smith nodded, stiffly.

Meanwhile, on the deck promenade, Avery and Jack strolled aft, past people lounging on deck chairs in the slanting late-afternoon light. Stewards scurried to serve tea or hot cocoa.

"You know, my dream has always been to just chuck it all and become an artist... living in a garret, poor but free!" said the girl dreamily.

Jack laughed. "You wouldn't last two days. There's no hot water, and hardly ever any caviar."

Avery scowled at him, instantly angry; she hated when people underestimated her. "Honey, I happen to _hate_ caviar! And I'm sick and tired of people dismissing my dreams with a chuckle and a pat on the head."

Jack smiled. "I'm sorry. Really... I am."

Avery purse her lips, observing him for a moment before finally nodding. "Well, alright. There's something in me, Jack. I feel it. I don't know what it is, whether I should be an artist, or, I don't know... a dancer. Like... like Isadora Duncan.... a wild pagan spirit..."

She leaped forward, landed deftly and whirled like a dervish. Then she saw something ahead and her face lit up.

"...or an actress!"

She took his hand, making his heart race, and ran, pulling him along the deck toward Daniel and Mary Marvin. Daniel was cranking the big wooden movie camera as she posed stiffly at the rail.

"You're sad," said Marvin. "Sad, sad, sad. You've left your lover on the shore. You may never see him again. Try to be sadder, darling."

Suddenly Avery shot into the shot and stroke a theatrical pose at the rail next to Mary. Mary burst out laughing. Avery winked at her and pulled Jack into the picture and made him pose. Marvin grinned and started yelling and gesturing; the entire piece was in cuts, with music and no dialogue.

 _A silent movie_ , Avery thought. She'd always liked those.

In the latter, she was posing tragically at the rail, the back of her hand to her forehead. Jack on a deck chair, pretending to be a Pasha, the two girls pantomiming fanning him like slave girls. Jack, on his knees, pleading with his hands clasped while Avery, standing, turned her head in bored disdain. Avery cranking the camera, while Daniel and Jack had a western shoot-out. Jack won and leered into the lens, twirling an air mustache like Snidely Whiplash. That one made Avery laugh hard.

Painted with orange light, Jack and Avery soon found themselves leaning on the A-deck rail aft, shoulder to shoulder. The ship's lights came on. It was a magical moment... perfect.

"So then what, Mr. Wandering Jack?" Avery asked, bumping her shoulder with his.

"Well, then logging got to be too much like work, so I went down to Los Angelas to the pier in Santa Monica. That's a swell place, they even have a roller-coaster. I sketched portraits there for ten cents a piece."

"A whole ten cents?!"

Not getting it, Jack replied, "Yeah; it was great money... I could make a dollar a day, sometimes. But only in summer. When it got cold, I decided to go to Paris and see what the real artists were doing."

Avery looked at the dusk sky. "Why can't I be like you Jack? Just head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it." She turned to him. "Say we'll go there, sometime... to that pier... even if we only ever just talk about it."

"Alright, we're going. We'll drink cheap beer and go on the roller-coaster until we throw up and we'll ride horses on the beach... right in the surf... but you have to ride like a cowboy, none of that side-saddle stuff."

"You mean one leg on each side? Scandalous!" It wasn't, but she just couldn't help herself. "Can you show me?"

"Sure. If you like."

Avery grinned childishly at him. "I think I would." She looked back at the horizon. "And teach me to spit too. Like a man. Why should only men be able to spit? It's unfair." She remembered when Brock had tried to teach her; she'd ended up throwing a silent tantrum as she couldn't do it as well as him. It was stupid, now that she thought of it, but it was fun all the same.

"They didn't teach you that in finishing school?" Jack asked, feigning shock. "Here, it's easy. Watch closely."

He spat. It arced out over the water.

Avery grimaced. "Ew, that's disgusting!"

Jack threw his head back and laughed. "You wanted to learn," he countered. "C'mon, try it."

The girl screwed up her mouth and spat. A pathetic little bit of foamy spittle which mostly ran down her chin before falling off into the water.

"Nope, that was pitiful. Here, like this... you hawk it down..." _HHHNNNK!_ "... then roll it on your tongue, up to the front, like _thith_ , then a big breath and—" _PLOOOW!!_ "You see the range on that thing?"

She went through the steps. Hawked it down, etc. He coached her through it while doing the steps himself. She let it fly. So did he. Two comets of gob flew out over the water.

"Oh, I can't believe I did that!" Avery exclaimed, laughing as she hid her face behind her hands.

Jack gave her a boyish grin. "That was great!"

The teenager turned to him, her face alight. Suddenly she blanched. He saw her expression and turned. Ruth, the Countess of Rothes, and Molly Brown have been watching them hawking lugees.

Avery became instantly composed. "... _Mother_ , may I introduce Jack Dawson."

"Charmed, I'm sure."

Jack had a little spit running down his chin. He didn't know it. Molly Brown was grinning as Avery proceeded with the introductions. Avery could tell the others were gracious and curious about the man who'd saved her life. But her 'mother' looked at him like an insect. A dangerous insect which must be squashed quickly.

"Well, Jack," Molly started. "It sounds like you're a good man to have around in a sticky spot—"

They all jumped as a bugler sounded the meal call right behind them.

"Why do they insist on always announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?" Molly huffed.

"Shall we go dress, Mother?" Her eyes were void of emotion and cold as they looked at Ruth, but when she glanced over her shoulder, they lit up and softened as they gazed upon the young man. "See you at dinner, Jack."

As they walked, Ruth looked over at her 'daughter' furiously. "Rose, look at you... out in the sun with no hat. Honestly!" The young girl just rolled her eyes at her as she, Ruth and the Countess exited, leaving Jack and Molly alone on deck.

"Son, do you have the slightest comprehension of what you're doing?"

"Not really," Jack admitted, eyes trailing after the young redhead, longingly.

"Well, you're about to go into the snakepit. I hope you're ready. What are you planning to wear?"

Jack looked down at his clothes. Back up at her. He hadn't thought about that.

The woman smiled at him. "I figured."


	7. Make it count

Men's suits and jackets and formal wear were strewn all over the place. Molly was having a fine time. Jack was dressed, except for his jacket, and Molly was tying his bow tie.

"Don't feel bad about it," she said in a motherly way. "My husband still can't tie one of these damn things after twenty years. There you go."

She picked up a jacket off the bed and handed it to him. Jack went into the bathroom to put it on as Molly started picking up the stuff off the bed.

"I gotta buy everything in three sizes 'cause I never know how much he's been eating while I'm away," she said. She turned and a proud smile began to etch across her face as she looked at him. "My, my, my... you shine up like a new penny."

A purple sky, shot with orange, in the west, hovered beautifully over the ship; a beautiful sight to catch from the first class entrance. Drifting strains of classical music, Jack sauntered along the deck, a bit nervous, though he was quite good at hiding it. By Edwardian standards he looked badass, dashing in his borrowed white-tie outfit, right down to his pearl studs.

A steward bowed and smartly opened the door to the First Class Entrance. "Good evening, sir."

Jack played the role smoothly, nodding with just the right degree of disdain. He stepped in and his breath was taken away by the splendor spread out before him.

Overhead was the enormous glass dome, with a crystal chandelier at its center. Sweeping down six stories was the First Class Grand Staircase, the epitome of the opulent naval architecture of the time. And the people: the women in their floor-length dresses, elaborate hairstyles, and abundant jewelry... the gentlemen in evening dress, standing with one hand at the small of the back, talking quietly.

Jack descended to the A deck. Several men nodded a perfunctory greeting. He nodded back, keeping it simple. He felt like a spy.

Caledon came down the stairs, with Ruth on his arm, covered in jewelry. They both walked right past Jack, neither one recognizing him. Caledon nodded at him, one gent to another. But Jack barely had time to be amused because just behind Caledon and Ruth on the stairs was Avery.

Brown reddish hair up in a rebellious bun at the side of her head, making her whole 'being from another time' of much more obvious; she was a vision in red and black, her low-cut dress showing off her neck and shoulders, her arms sheathed in white gloves that came well above the elbow.

Jack was hypnotized by her beauty.

Eyes transfixed on her elegant frame, Jack watched attentively as she slowly approached him, imitating the gentlemen's stance, hand behind his back. She extended her gloved hand and he took it, kissing the back of her fingers. Avery found herself flushing like never before, beaming noticeably. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

"I saw that in a nickelodeon once," said Jack, face completely lit at her presence before him. "And I always wanted to do it."

Biting back a laugh, Avery turned to Caledon, face somewhat sobering up. "Cal, surely you remember Mr. Dawson."

Caledon, caught off guard, said, "Dawson! I didn't recognize you." He studied the third class man who stood before them. "Amazing! You could almost pass for a gentleman."

They soon found themselves descending from the party to dinner. They encountered Molly Brown, who looked quite good in her beaded dress, in her own busty broad-shouldered way. Molly grinned when she saw Jack.

As they were going into the dining saloon she walked next to him, speaking low. "Ain't nothin' to it, is there, Jack?"

"Yeah, you just dress like a pallbearer and keep your nose up," Jack replied, a small smirk on his lips.

Molly chuckled. "Remember, the only thing they respect is money, so just act like you've got a lot of it and you're in the club." 

As they entered the swirling throng, Avery leaned close to him, pointing out several notables. "There's the Countess Rothes. And that's John Jacob Astor... the richest man on the ship. His little wifey there, Madeleine, is my age and in a delicate condition. See how she's trying to hide it. Quite the scandal."

She nodded toward a couple. "And over there, that's Sir Cosmo and Lucile, Lady Duff-Gordon. She designs naughty lingerie, among her many talents. Very popular with the royals."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. She looked at him and shrugged. "I may be from another time, but memorizing things is something that'll never change about me."

Jack nodded, turning his attention back to the other people. "So what do I call you, then?" he asked as they watched Caledon become engrossed in a conversation with Cosmo Duff-Gordon and Colonel Gracie, while Ruth, the Countess, and Lucille discussed fashion. "You seem to get ticked off every time someone calls you Rose."

Avery looked at him for a moment. "Well, I can't really have you calling me Avery," she mumbled, sighing softly. "Just call me Rose. As much as I may be starting to really dislike the name, it's the only thing you can call me here."

"Are you the same age as you were in your time?"

Avery smirked a bit. "It's rude to ask a lady about her age."

Jack looked at her, about to apologize, until he noticed her smirk. He smiled and shook his head, chuckling. "I'm sorry," he said anyway.

She waved it off nonchalantly. "I'm still seventeen."

"I thought it was rude to ask a lady about her age."

Avery's smirk widened. "I think we established earlier that I'm not exactly the most lady-like girl out there." Her eyes were twinkling with childishness and mischief, which made his heart jump.

"What about you, Mr. Dawson?" she asked, purposefully pouring more Britishness into her accent.

He chuckled. "Solid twenty."

They shared a smile before Avery picot Jack smoothly, to show him another couple, dressed impeccably.

"That's Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Madame Aubert. Mrs. Guggenheim is at home with the children, of course."

Caledon, meanwhile, was accepting the praise of his male counterparts, who were looking at Avery like a prize show horse.

"Hockley, she is splendid," Sir Cosmo exclaimed.

"Thank you."

Colonel Gracie said, "Cal's a lucky man. I know him well, and it can only be luck." 

Ruth stepped over, hearing the last. She took Caledon's arm, somewhat coquettishly. "How can you say that Colonel? Caledon Hockley is a great catch." 

The entourage strolled toward the dining saloon, where they run into the Astor's going through the ornate double doors.

Avery put on a smile and said, "J.J., Madeleine, I'd like you to meet Jack Dawson."

Astor shook the young man's hand and gave him a welcoming smile. "Good to meet you, Jack. Are you of the Boston Dawsons?"

"No, the Chippewa Falls Dawsons, actually." 

J.J. nodded as if he'd heard of them, then looked puzzled.

Madeleine Astor appraised Jack and whispered girlishly to Avery, "It's a pity we're both spoken for, isn't it?"

Like a ballroom at the palace, alive and lit by a constellation of chandeliers, the dining saloon was full of elegantly dressed people and beautiful music from Bandleader Wallace Hartley's small orchestra.

As Avery and Jack entered and moved across the room to their table, Caledon and Ruth beside them, Avery could not help but feel bad as she thought, _He must have been nervous_. Of course, it was hard to tell as he never faltered. They all assumed he was one of them... a young captain of industry perhaps... new money, obviously, but still a member of the club.

 _Mother_ , of course, could always be counted upon to try to humiliate others.

"Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson," said Ruth. "I hear they're quite good on this ship."

Jack was seated opposite Avery, who was flanked by Caledon and Thomas Andrews. Also at the table were Molly Brown, Ismay, Colonel Gracie, the Countess, Guggenheim, Madame Aubert, and the Astors.

"The best I've seen, m'am," Jack replied quite diplomatically. "Hardly any rats."

Avery motioned surreptitiously for Jack to take his napkin off his plate.

"Mr. Dawson is joining us from third class," said Caledon. "He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night." He turned to Jack as spoke as if he were talking to a child. "This is _foie gras_. It's goose liver."

Whispers were exchanged amongst the others on the table. Avery clenched her jaw, eyes going cold as they settled upon her _fiancé._ Jack became the subject of furtive glances. Now they were all feeling terribly liberal and dangerous.

Guggenheim turned to Madame Aubert and spoke in a low voice. "What is Hockley hoping to prove, bringing this... bohemian... up here?"

A waiter walked over to Jack and asked, "How do you take your caviar, sir?"

"Just a soupcon of lemon..." Caledon answered for him before turning to Jack with a smile. "... it improves the flavor with champagne."

Jack turned to the waiter and said, "No caviar for me, thanks." He then turned to Caledon. "Never did like it much," he said before finally looking at Avery, poker-faced, and she sent him a secretive smile.

"And where exactly do you live, Mr. Dawson?" Ruth asked.

"Well, right now my address is the RMS Titanic. After that, I'm on God's good humor."

Salad was served. Jack reached for the fish fork but stopped when Avery gave him a look and picked up the salad fork, prompting him with her eyes. He changed forks.

Ruth narrowed her eyes at the young man. "You find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?"

Jack hesitated for a moment before responding. "Well... it's a big world, and I want to see it all before I go. My father was always talkin' about goin' to see the ocean. He died in the town he was born in and never did see it. You can't wait around, because you never know what hand you're going to get dealt next. See, my folks died in a fire when I was fifteen, and I've been on the road since. Somethin' like that teaches you to take life as it comes at you. To make each day count."

Molly Brown raised her glass in a salute. "Well said, Jack."

Colonel Gracie raised his glass as well. "Here, here."

Jack risked a glance at Avery and found her already looking at him with an unreadable glint in her eyes.

She raised her glass, looking at him and said in a soft voice, "To making it count."

Ruth, annoyed that Jack had scored a point, pressed him further, "How is it you have the means to travel, Mr. Dawson?"

Jack looked at her. "I work my way from place to place. Tramp steamers and such. I won my ticket on Titanic here in a lucky hand at poker." He glanced over at Avery again and smiled. "A very lucky hand." She looked away quickly, eyes drifting down to her plate as an adorable blush crept its way onto her cheeks.

"All life is a game of luck," the Colonel somewhat agreed.

"A real man makes his own luck, Archie," said Caledon.

Avery noticed that Thomas Andrews, sitting next to her, was writing in his notebook, completely ignoring the conversation.

"Mr. Andrews, what are you doing? I see you everywhere writing in this little book." She grabbed it and read, "Increase the number of screws in hat hooks from 2 to 3. You build the biggest ship in the world and this preoccupies you?!" she asked, chuckling in disbelief at the man.

Andrews smiled sheepishly.

"He knows every rivet in her, don't you Thomas?" said Ismay.

"All three million of them."

"His blood and soul are in the ship," said Ismay. "She may be mine on paper, but in the eyes of God she belongs to Thomas Andrews."

Avery looked at the named man and smiled softly. "Your ship is a wonder, Mr. Andrews. Truly."

"Thank you, Rose." It was obvious that Andrews had fallen under Avery's spell as well.

Dessert had, not long later, been served and a waiter arrived with cigars in a humidor on a wheeled cart. The men started clipping ends and lighting.

Avery leaned in closer to Jack and said in a low voice, "Next it'll be brandies in the Smoking Room."

Colonel Gracie rose from his seat. "Well, join me for a brandy, gentlemen?"

"Now they retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate each other on being masters of the universe," Avery continued.

"Joining us, Dawson?" the Colonel asked. "You don't want to stay out here with the women, do you?"

Actually, he does, but...

"No thanks," declined the young man. "I'm heading back."

"Probably best," said Caledon. "It'll be all business and politics, that sort of thing. Wouldn't interest you. Good of you to come."

Caledon and the other gentlemen exited.

Frowning slightly, Avery turned to Jack, visibly disappointed. "Jack, must you go?"

"Time for my coach to turn back into a pumpkin." He leaned over to take her hand, slipping a tiny folded not into her palm, and gently lifted it to his lips to press of soft kiss on it before pulling back and leaving as well. Ruth, scowling, watched him walk away across the enormous room. Avery surreptitiously opened the note below table level and fought back a smile. It read,

 _Make it count. Meet me at the clock_.


	8. Something I can't have...

Avery crossed the A-deck foyer, sighting Jack at the landing above. Overhead was the crystal dome.

Jack had his back to her, studying the ornate clock with its carved figures of Honor and Glory. It softly stroke the hour.

Avery went up the sweeping staircase toward him. He turned at the sound of her light footsteps, saw her and smiled.

"Want to go to a real party?"

His response was her beautiful smile.

Crowded and alive with music, laughter and raucous carried on. A band was gathered near the upright piano, honking out lively stomping music on fiddle, accordion, and tambourine. People of all ages were dancing, drinking beer and wine, smoking, laughing, even brawling.

Tommy handed Avery a pint of stout and she hoisted it. Jack meanwhile danced with five-year-old Cora, or tried to, with her standing on his feet.

As the tune ended, Avery leaned down to the little girl. "May I cut in, miss?"

"You're still my best girl, Cora," said Jack.

Face still lit with joy of the moment, Cora nodded at the pair and scampered off. Avery and Jack faced each other. She was trembling as he took her right hand in his left and his other hand slid to the small of her back. It was an electrifying moment.

"I don't know the steps," Avery interjected.

"Just move with me," said Jack. "Don't think."

The music started and they were off. A little awkward at first, she started to get into it. She grinned at Jack as she started to get the rhythm of the steps.

"Wait... stop!" She bent down, pulling off her high heeled shoes, and flung them to Tommy. Then she grabbed Jack and they plunged back into the fray, dancing faster as the music sped up.

The scene was rowdy and rollicking. A table got knocked over as a drunk crashed into it. Throughout that time, Avery was dancing with Jack in her stocking feet. The steps were fast and she shined with sweat. A space opened around them, and people watched them, clapping as the band played faster and faster.

For Fabrizio and Helga, dancing had obviated the need for a common language. He whirled her, then she responded by whirling him... Fabrizio's eyes went wide when he realized she was stronger than he was.

The tune ended in a mad rush.

Jack stepped away from Avery with a flourish, allowing her to take a bow. Exhilarated and slightly tipsy, she did a graceful ballet ployer, feet turned out perfectly. Everyone laughed and applauded. Avery was a hit with the steerage folks, who've never had a lady party with them.

They moved to a table, flushed and sweaty. Avery grabbed Fabrizio's cigarette and took a big drag. She was feeling cocky. Fabrizio was grinning, holding hands with Helga.

"How you two doin'?" Jack asked the pair.

"I don't know what she says, she don't know what I say, so we get along fine," the lad replied.

"That's great!" Avery exclaimed. "Unpuzzling your partner is one of the best things in a relationship... unless you discover something disturbing.... but, even then, it's hard to stay away."

Tommy walked up with a pint for each of them. Avery chugged hers, gaining herself surprised stares. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave them a daring look. "What? You think a first class girl can't drink?"

Everybody else was dancing again, and Bjorn Gundersen crashed into Tommy, who sloshed his beer over Avery's dress. She laughed, not really caring at all. But Tommy lunged, grabbing Bjorn and wheeling him around.

"You stupid bastard!!"

Bjorn came around, his fists coming up, but Jack leaped into the middle of it, pushing them apart. "Boys, boys! Did I ever tell you the one about the Swede and the Irishman goin' to the whorehouse?"

Tommy stood there, all piss and vinegar, chest puffed up. Then he grinned and claps Bjorn on the shoulder.

"So, you think you're big tough men?" Avery scoffed. "Let's see you do this."

In her stocking feet, she assumed a ballet stance, arms raised, and went up on point, taking her entire weight on the tips of her toes. She had no idea why she was doing that, even less where that sudden grace came from despite her drunk self, but being who she was and due to the circumstances, she shrugged it off and mentally applauded herself. The guys gaped at her incredible muscle control.

She came back down, then her face screwed up in pain. She grabbed one foot, hopping around. "Oooowww! No wonder why I've never done that before."

Jack caught her as she lost her balance, and everyone cracked up. The door to the well-deck was open a few inches as Lovejoy watched through the gap. He saw Jack holding Avery, both of them laughing, and quickly closed the door.

Later that night, the stars blazed overhead, so bright and clear you can see the Milky Way.

Avery and Jack walked along the row of lifeboats. Still giddy from the party, they sang a popular song "Come Josephine in My Flying Machine".

" _Come Josephine in my flying machine And it's up she goes! Up she goes! In the air she goes. Where? There she goes!_ "

They fumbled the words and broke down laughing. They had reached the First Class Entrance but didn't go straight in, not wanting the evening to end. Through the doors, the sound of the ship's orchestra wafted gently.

Avery grabbed a davit and leaned back, staring at the cosmos. "Isn't it magnificent? So grand and endless." She went to the rail and leaned on it. "They're such small people, Jack... the crowd I'm in. They think they're giants on the earth, but they're not even dust in God's eye. They live inside this little tiny champagne bubble... And someday the bubble's going to burst."

He leaned against the rail next to her, his hand only just touching hers. It was the slightest contact imaginable, and all either one of them can feel was that square inch of skin where their hands were touching.

"You're not one of them," said Jack, shaking his head. "There's been a mistake."

Avery gave him an amused look. "A mistake?"

Jack nodded and spoke in a somewhat childish tone, "Uh huh. You got mailed to the wrong address."

Avery threw her head back and laughed. "I did, didn't I?" She paused for a moment, then suddenly pointed at something in the sky. "Look! A shooting star."

"That was a long one," Jack commented.

Avery looked at the wonder in awe. "I've always wanted to see one," she mumbled. "My whole life, but... I never had the chance to." She grimaced slightly, thinking about all the pollution in the world, in her time, that prevents the stars from being seen at night.

"My father used to say that whenever you saw one, it was a soul going to heaven," Jack said.

Avery glanced sideways at him and smiled softly at what he said. "I like that. Aren't we supposed to wish on it?"

Jack looked at her and found that they were suddenly very close together. It would be so easy to move another couple of inches, to kiss her. Avery seemed to be thinking the same thing, but that only made her fight back a frown; she didn't belong there. And even if she couldn't find a way out, even if it turned out that she could never go home, the ship was going to sink soon. Not only that, but if she survived along with her _mother_ and the 'penguin', Avery would have to marry him, and, although the chances of him surviving are indeterminable, if he didn't come out alive, she would still be forced into a marriage. She would never get to marry someone she loved in that time.

"What would you wish for?" Jack asked softly.

After a beat, Avery pulled back. "Something I can't have," she mumbled. She gave him a sad yet polite smile and nodded. "Goodnight, Jack. And thank you." She left the rail and hurried through the First Class entrance.

"Avery!!"

But the door banged shut, and she was gone.

Back to her world.


	9. Come Josephine in my flying machine...

**Sunday, April 14, 1912**

It was a bright clear day. Sunlight splashed across the promenade, where Avery and Caledon were having breakfast in silence. The tension was palpable. Trudy, in her usual maid's uniform, poured them coffee, then went inside.

"I had hoped you would come to me last night," said Caledon in a casual tone.

Avery glanced up at him before returning her eyes to her cup. "I was tired."

"Yes. Your exertions below decks were no doubt exhausting."

Avery stiffened. "I see you had that undertaker of a manservant follow me."

Caledon threw her a glare. "You will never behave like that again! Do you understand?"

Avery stared up at him with a look of disbelief. "I'm not some foreman in your mills that you can command." Taking a deep breath, she glanced down at her hands before looking back up at him. "I am your fiancée—"

Caledon exploded, sweeping the breakfast china off the table with a crash. He moved to her in one shocking moment, glowering over her and gripping the sides of her chair, so she was trapped between his arms.

"Yes! You are! And my wife... in practice, if not yet by law. So you will honor me, as a wife is required to honor her husband! I will not be made out a fool! Is this in any way unclear?"

Avery shrunk into the chair and, trembling, she shook her head. "No," she managed to choke out before glancing behind Caledon. She saw Trudy, frozen, partway through the door bringing the orange juice. Caledon followed her glance and straightened up. He stalked past the maid, entering the stateroom.

"We... had a little accident. I'm sorry, Trudy," the young girl apologized.

She'd been mistreated in her past, but never to this extent... at least as far as she remembers. This was why she wanted to jump that night before she'd met Jack. After meeting the latter, she hadn't minded being _when_ she was, but _who_ she was with was a whole different story.

Avery was dressed for the day and was in the middle of helping Ruth with her corset. The tight bindings did not inhibit Ruth's fury at all.

"You are not to see that boy again, do you understand me, Rose?" Avery rolled her eyes, though Ruth didn't see her. "I forbid it!"

Avery had her knee at the base of her _mother_ 's back and was pulling the corset strings with both hands.

"Oh, stop it, _Mother_. You'll give yourself a nosebleed." _Not that I would mind_ , thought Avery.

Ruth pulled away from her, and crossed to the door, locking it. CLACK!

"Rose, this is not a game!" Ruth hissed, wheeling on her. "Our situation is precarious. You know the money's gone!"

Avery fought back the urge to say _Then get a job_ , and said instead, "Of course I know it's gone. You remind me every day!"

"Your father left us nothing but a legacy of bad debts hidden by a good name. And that name is the only card we have to play."

Clenching her jaw, Avery turned her around and grabbed the corset strings again. Ruth sucked in her waist and Avery pulled.

"I don't understand you. It is a fine match with Hockley—"

 _Except that he's twice my age_ , Avery thought.

"— and it will ensure our survival."

Avery gave her a look filled with hurt. "How can you put this on my shoulders?"

Ruth turned to her and Avery could see the naked fear in her eyes, but that changed nothing of how she felt. She was not going to feel pity towards this materialistic woman.

"Do you want to see me working as a seamstress? Is that what you want? Do you want to see our fine things sold at an auction, our memories scattered to the winds? My God, Rose, how can you be so selfish?"

Avery gave her an incredulous look that soon shifted into one of anger as she pulled on the corset a bit tighter, muttering, "It's so unfair."

"Of course it's unfair! We're women. Our choices are never easy."

A while later, at the divine service, Captain Smith was leading a group in the hymn 'Almighty Father Strong To Save'. Avery and Ruth sang in the middle of the group... well, Ruth did. Avery only mouthed the words slightly, basically bored to death by it, but also lost in thought by how nervous the event that would occur later that night made her.

Lovejoy stood well back, keeping an eye on her, but he noticed a commotion at the entry doors. Jack had been halted there by two stewards. He was dressed in his third class clothes, and stood there, hat in hand, looking out of place.

"Look, you, you're not supposed to be in here," said a steward.

"I was just here last night... don't you remember?" Jack saw Lovejoy coming toward him and motioned a hand at him. "He'll tell you."

"Mr. Hockley and Ms. DeWitt Bukater continue to be most appreciative of your assistance," said Lovejoy. "They asked me to give you this in gratitude—" He held out two twenty dollar bills, which Jack refused to take.

"I don't want money, I—"

"— and also to remind you that you hold a third class ticket," Lovejoy continued as though the latter had not spoken. "And your presence here is no longer appropriate."

Jack spotted Avery, but she didn't see him. "I just need to talk to Rose for a—"

But he did not get to finish as Lovejoy cut him off again. "Gentlemen, please see that Mr. Dawson gets back where he belongs," he said, giving the twenties to the stewards. "And that he stays there."

"Yes sir!" said the other steward before turning to Jack. "Come along you."

Ruth stopped singing for a moment and leaned over to Avery to hiss in her ear, "Rose, quit mouthing and start singing."

Sighing, the young girl rolled her blue-green eyes and began to sing, her soft voice slipping past her lips like the soft sound of an ocarina. " _O hear us when we cry to thee for those in peril on the sea._ "

Unfortunately for Jack, she did not see him being hustled out.

Later that day, Thomas Andrews was the one leading the small tour group, that included Avery, Ruth, and Caledon, into an Edwardian nautilus room. The room was filled with some exercise machines recognizable to Avery, though others remained unknown. A woman pedaled a stationary bicycle in a long dress, looking quite ridiculous. Caledon was working the oars of a stationary rowing machine with a well-trained stroke.

"Reminds me of my Harvard days," he commented.

Avery fought back a snort. _Must've been a long time ago, gramps_ , she thought, rolling her eyes.

T.W. McCauley, the gym instructor, was a bouncy little man in white flannels, eager to show off his modern equipment, like his present-day counterpart on an 'Abflex' infomercial. He hit a switch and a machine with a saddle on it started to undulate. Avery put her hand on it, curious.

"The electric horse is very popular," said McCauley. "We even have an electric camel." He turned to Ruth with a polite smile. "Care to try your hand at the rowing, ma'am?"

Her head instantly snapped up and she gave him a perturbed look. "Don't be absurd. I can't think of a skill I should likely need less," she said, causing Avery to roll her eyes.

"The next stop on our tour will be the bridge," said Andrews. "This way, please."

Through the A and B Deck, Jack walked with determination, followed closely by Tommy and Fabrizio. He quickly climbed the steps to the B Deck and stepped over the gate separating third from second-class.

"She's a goddess amongst mortal men, there's no denyin'," Tommy admitted. "But she's in another world, Jackie, forget her. She's closed the door."

Jack moved furtively to the wall below the A Deck promenade, aft.

"It was them, not her," Jack replied. He glanced around the deck, then looked back at his friend quickly. "Ready... go."

Shaking his head resignedly, Tommy put his hands together, crouching down. Jack stepped into Tommy's hands and got boosted up to the next deck, where he scrambled nimbly over the railing, onto the First Class deck.

"He's not bein' logical, I tell ya," Tommy mumbled, shaking his head once more.

Fabrizio shrugged with a smile on his face. "Amore is'a not logical."

On the A Deck aft, a man was playing with his son, who was spinning a top with a string. The man's overcoat and hat were sitting on a deck chair nearby. Jack emerged from behind one of the huge deck cranes and calmly picked up the coat and bowler hat, subtly walking away, slipping into the coat, and slicking his hair back with spit. Then put the hat on at a jaunty angle; at a distance, he could easily now pass for a gentleman.

On the bridge of that deck, inside a chartroom, Harold Bridge, the twenty-one-year-old Junior Wireless Operator, hustled in and skirted around Andrews' tour group to hand a Marconigram to Captain Smith.

"Another ice warning, sir," he told him. "This one from the 'Baltic'."

Smith nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Sparks." He glanced at the message then nonchalantly put it in his pocket. He nodded reassuringly to Avery and the group. "Not to worry, it's quite normal for this time of year. In fact, we're speeding up. I've just ordered the last boilers lit."

Andrews scowled slightly before motioning the group toward the door. They exited just as Second Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller came out of the chartroom, stopping next to First Officer Murdoch.

"Did we ever find those binoculars for the lookouts?" Lightoller asked.

Murdoch shrugged. "Haven't seen them since Southampton."

On the starboard side, Andrews lead the group back from the bridge along the Boat Deck.

"Mr. Andrews, I did the sum in my head, and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned... forgive me, but it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard," Avery suddenly said, startling the entire group as she was the only one who hadn't spoken till now.

"About half, actually," Andrews corrected. "Rose, you miss nothing, do you?" Avery couldn't help but smile slightly at the subtle praise. "In fact, I put in these new type davits, which can take an extra row of boats here." He gestured along the deck. "But it was thought... by some... that the deck would look too cluttered. So I was over-ruled."

Caledon slapped the side of a boat and said, "Waste of deck space as it is, on an unsinkable ship!"

Avery bit the inside of her cheek and fought back a glare. _He'll see, soon, just how wrong he is. Just a few more hours and it will all be... over..._

"Sleep soundly, young Rose," Andrews continued as though Caledon hadn't spoken. "I have built you a good ship, strong and true. She's all the lifeboat you need."

Lips pursed, Avery let out a small sigh through her nose and followed the group and Andrews continued to lead them across the deck. Though, as they were passing the boat labeled number seven, a gentleman turned from the rail and walked up behind the group.

It was Jack.

He stepped behind the young redhead and tapped her on the arm. Frowning, Avery turned and gasped, eyes wide in surprise. The young man motioned silently for her to follow him and she cut away from the group toward a door, which Jack held open. Avery glanced around and noticed he had led her back into the gymnasium.

Once he closed the door behind her, he glanced out through the ripple-glass window to the starboard rail, where the gym instructor was chatting up the woman who had been riding the bike a while ago. Avery and Jack were alone in the room.

Taking a deep breath, Avery said, "Jack, this is impossible. I can't see you."

He took her by the shoulders, practically pinning her against the wall beside the door, and looked her straight in the eye with his intense blue-green yet slightly gray orbs.

" _Avery_ ," he started, making her heart flutter. She had gotten so used to being called Rose by now, she almost forgot her own name, but to have Jack call her that, she couldn't even describe what it made her feel. "You're no picnic... you're a spoiled little brat even, but under that, you're a strong, pure heart, and you're the most amazingly astounding girl I've ever known and—"

"Jack, I—"

"No, wait. Let me try to get this out. You're amazing... And I know I have nothing to offer you, Ave. I know that. But I'm involved now. You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowin' that you're goin' to be alright."

Avery could feel the tears coming to her eyes. Jack was so open and real... not like anyone she had ever known.

"You're making this very hard," she croaked before straightening up as much as she could from the position he had her in. "I'll be fine. Really."

Jack shook his head. "I don't think so. They've got you in a glass jar like some butterfly, and you're goin' to die if you don't break out. Maybe not right away, 'cause you're strong. But sooner or later the fire in you is goin' to go out."

"It's not up to you to save me, Jack," she whispered.

"You're right," he found himself whispering back, eyes never leaving hers, before he stood taller and said in a stronger tone, "Only you can do that."

They stared at each other for a moment before Avery took it upon herself to look away. "I have to get back before they realize I'm gone. Please, Jack, for both our sakes," she looked back at him and finished in a whisper, "leave me alone."

After leaving the young man in the gymnasium, the teenage girl subtly found her way back into the touring group and followed quietly behind, fighting the urge to glance back to where she had left Jack because, she knew that if she did, she would run back to him without a second thought.

They moved along the deck, all the way to the most elegant room on the ship, done in Louis Quinze Versaille style. Avery found herself recognizing it from when Bodine had sent his ROV, a small orange and black robot she remembered him naming Snoop Dog, into the shipwreck to explore it.

She sat on a divan, with a group of other women arrayed around her. Ruth, the Countess Rothes, and Lady Duff-Gordon were taking tea. The young girl was silent and still as a porcelain figurine as the conversation washed around her.

"Of course the invitations had to be sent back to the printers twice," Ruth exclaimed excitedly, only making Avery clench her jaw. "And the bridesmaids' dresses! Let me tell you what an odyssey that has been..."

Avery's eyes became somewhat glazed over and distant as she drowned out Ruth's voice, which kept going on and on. Her eyes shifted a bit around and locked themselves upon a tableau of a mother and daughter having tea: the four-year-old girl, wearing white gloves, on the tableau, daintily picking up a cookie; the mother correcting her on her posture, and the way she holds the teacup. The little girl was trying so hard to please, her expression serious. Avery suddenly saw herself... or maybe it was Rose, at that age, going through relentless conditioning... the pain to becoming an Edwardian geisha.

Blinking herself back to reality, she bit her lip for a moment, considering, before, finally, calmly and deliberately turning her teacup over, spilling tea all over her dress.

"Oh, look what I've done," she said, feigning surprise. With that, she got up and rushed off, only one person in mind.

The Titanic steamed in the dusk light as if lit by the embers of a giant fire. Jack stood right at the apex of the bow railing, his favorite spot. He closed his eyes, letting the chill wind clear his head, though felt his mouth run dry and his heart flutter when he heard her voice from behind him.

"Hello, Jack," her voice fell from her lips like a waterfall of ranunculus petals. He slowly turned around and found her standing there like the flower itself, looking at up at him with those piercing blue-green eyes of hers. "I changed my mind."

He smiled at her, his eyes drinking her in. Her cheeks were red with the chill wind, and her eyes sparkled, her hair blows wildly about her face.

"Fabrizio said you might be up—"

"Shh," he cut her off, holding a hand out to her. "Come here." She grabbed his hand and let him pull her into him, feeling her heart flutter as he placed his hands on her waist. "Close your eyes."

She did so, and he turned her to face forward, the way the ship was going. He pressed her gently to the rail, standing right behind her, her back pressed against his warm chest. Then he took her two hands and raised them until she was standing with her arms outstretched on each side. Avery, slightly confused, but happy nonetheless, went along with him.

When he lowered his hands onto the rail to keep himself from falling, her arms stayed up as though they were wings. "Okay. Open them," he whispered.

Avery did so and gasped. There was nothing in her field of vision but water. It was like there was no ship under them at all, just the two of them soaring. She had done this before, but doing so with someone was different than doing it alone. And where she was right now, the space was larger, and though she was sharing it with someone...

She had never felt freer than she did at that moment.

With Jack.

The Atlantic unrolled toward her, a hammered copper shield under a dusk sky. There was only the wind, and the hiss of the water fifty feet below.

She laughed, the sound of it sounding like music to Jack's ears. He felt himself smiling when she shouted, "I'm flying!" She leaned forward, arching her back, and he instantly put his hands on her waist to steady her.

Avery ceased her laughter when she heard Jack singing softly in her ear, " _Come Josephine in my flying machine_..."

She closed her eyes, feeling herself floating weightless far above the sea. She smiled dreamily, then leaned back, gently pressing her back against his chest. Pushing forward slightly against her, he slowly raised his hands, arms outstretched, and they met hers, fingertips gently touching. Then their fingers intertwined, moving slowly, caressing through and around each other like the bodies of two lovers.

Jack tipped his face forward into her blowing hair, letting the scent of her wash over him until his cheek was against her ear. Avery turned her head and felt her throat tighten as she noticed her lips were near his. She couldn't resist any longer. She lowered her arms, turning further until she found his mouth with hers. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and they shared the chastest yet sweetest kiss, like this, with her head turned and tilted back, surrendering to him, to the emotion, to the inevitable. They kissed, slowly and tremulously, and then with building passion.

Jack and the ship seemed to merge into one force of power and optimism, lifting her, buoying her forward on a magical journey, soaring onward into a night without fear. Though Avery had had boyfriends before, this was her first kiss, and, though it was not with someone from her own time, she was glad it was with Jack.

The young man who freed her, who taught her how to fly again.


	10. To the stars!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. There will be some mature content nearing the end of this chapter, so you know if you're old enough to read it, or want to either way, by all means— go right ahead. I tried to make that part as detailed yet clean as possible, meaning I didn't put any dirty talking or any of that stuff. It's a simple love scene. Putting that aside, I hope you like the chapter.

The wind was whipping through her long hair and his short dirty blond hair as they stood on the railing, gazing out at the sea. Her posture reminded her a bit of the night Brock had saved her from drowning after she'd thrown herself over the Golden Gate Bridge. Just like that night, she could smell the sea calling her to come down and taste the salt water, but, this time, she opted for admiring the scenery and not joining it.

The sun was setting... it was a beautiful sight.

The sight she didn't want to be the last she saw in her life. Not anymore. She didn't want it to end as she once had. No. She wanted it to go on because, at that moment, in Jack's arms, it just felt new, real and amazing. It felt like her life was just beginning, though it really was about to end in a matter of hours. Six, to be exact.

Avery closed her eyes and sighed. _This would be the last time Titanic ever saw daylight_ , she thought sadly, embracing the red of the warmth the sun brought upon her eyelids. Sighing again, she tilted her head back until it rested on Jack's shoulder, causing him to look down at her.

She looked peaceful... though she probably wasn't.

 _How will I get back? Will I ever get back? I don't know because the possibility of this ship sinking is freakin' high!_ she had told him.

Jack knew it was selfish to want to keep her, to want her to stay when she was from a world different from his. Literally. He felt bad for how miserable she'd been and he felt guilty for only bringing her in deeper into a world she wasn't part of, but she was the first spark of genuine happiness he'd felt since the last time he'd spent with his parents. He always thought this kind of love would be impossible for him— who would want a lowlife like him? But here she was, a girl who grew up in practically the same way he did— alone and unwanted. A girl who worked her way to the first class and handled herself pretty well, considering she just got thrown overboard into a different era from the one she'd grown up in, into a family she didn't even know. A family she had to push her happiness aside for and please to no end.

Yet here she was _now_.

Rebelling against the morals she had set for herself to survive there. Rebelling against the wishes of the family she'd fallen into to finally have her happiness. Rebelling because _he_ pushed her into doing so. He knew he should regret making her do so as he really had nothing else to offer her but his love, but he didn't regret it at all. Even less when she'd turn to look at _him_ and smile brightly, all sadness and sorrow vanishing from those piercing blue-green eyes of hers as they gazed upon him; he knew then and there that there was nothing to regret as she was just as happy as he was in that moment he was sure she also wished would last forever.

After a very good long moment of gazing into each other's eyes, Jack smiled and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead before slowly stepping down from the rail and helping her down, with his hands still around her waist.

"Come on," she said, smiling back at him as she began to pull him down the deck. He grinned and quickly grabbed his sketchbook and drawing tools before following her.

"Mind if I ask where we're going?" he asked as she dragged him up to the first class entrance. "You seemed to have turned the tables. Usually, I'm the one who's dragging you somewhere!"

Avery laughed. "Can you draw me something?" she asked. He nodded. "Good. You'll need somewhere to draw, Mr. Dawson, so I am taking you to one of my rooms."

"You sure that's…" He thought a moment, straightened up and raised his eyebrow. "Proper?"

Avery laughed again when she noticed he had changed his accent at the question as though to imitate Caledon, as they reached the door she was aiming for and unlocked it and walked in, with Jack at her heels.

"It's quite proper, I assure you!" she replied.

Like in a dream, the beautiful woodwork and satin upholstery emerge from the rusted ruin. Jack was overwhelmed by the opulence of the room Avery had lead him into. It was very grand and elegant.

He set his sketchbook and drawing materials on the marble table and began to wander, looking around the overly ornate room.

"This is the sitting room," she told him as she took off her shawl and set it on a chair. "Will this light do?"

"What?" he asked, distractedly looking at the pieces on the mantlepiece.

"Don't artists need good light?" she asked. Despite her work being quite extraordinary, she always considered herself an amateur, so she was never sure what kind of atmosphere an artist needed to do his work in.

Jack dragged his finger across the mantle, as though he were checking for non-existent dust, then smiled at her and replied in a French accent. "Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'orreeble conditions." Though his accent was quite bad, it made Avery laugh, and that was his point in doing so.

He looked around and his eyebrows raised in surprise as he saw the other paintings. "Hey... Monet!" He crouched next to the paintings stacked against the wall.

Avery looked at him, surprised. "You know his work?"

"Of course. Look at his use of color," he told her, motioning to a much more colorful part of the painting. "Isn't he great?"

"I know," she agreed. "It's extraordinary. I would do anything to have some of his work back at home."

"I saw him once, you know," said Jack.

"Really?" Avery asked as she went into the adjoining walk-in wardrobe closet.

He watched her as she walked to a safe. "Well... it was through a hole in this garden fence in Giverny," he admitted, making her laugh. He was fascinated. "But, at least, it was something."

Avery chuckled, then sighed as she looked at the safe. "Caledon insists on lugging this thing everywhere," she said, her brows furrowed as she worked the combination.

"Should I be expecting him anytime soon?" Jack asked.

Avery chuckled again and shook her head. "Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out."

CLUNK!

She unlocked the safe. Glancing up, she met his eyes in the mirror behind the safe. She opened it and removed the necklace, then held it out to Jack who took it nervously.

"That's nice. What is it? A sapphire?"

"A diamond," she corrected him. "A _very_ rare diamond called the Heart of the Ocean."

Jack looked at it for a moment before looking at the young girl, curiously. "Isn't this—"

"What my brother's been looking for? Yes. Since, technically, it's mine now, I was thinking of giving it to him when I..." She frowned for a moment, looking at the ground. "If I... oh, you know what I mean!" she finished with a sigh.

Jack nodded gazed at wealth beyond his comprehension.

Letting out another nervous sigh, Avery cleared her throat and said, "I want you to draw me like your French girls, Jack. Wearing this."

Jack nodded, absentmindedly, still studying the jewel in his hands. "Alright."

Feeling daring, she smiled and added, "Wearing _only_ this."

He looked up at her, taken aback by the sudden request, then nodded, speechless.

Avery soon found herself in her bedroom, the only thing clothing her being her robe and the diamond necklace, as she drew the butterfly comb out of her hair. She shook her head and her hair fell free around her shoulders in waves, she noticed, had started to go back from the fiery red it had become to its normal reddish brown. That made her smile; she was tired of being someone she was not.

In the sitting room, Jack was laying out his pencils like surgical tools after changing the area he would be drawing her in. His sketchbook was already open and ready. He looked up as she came into the room, wearing a silk kimono and smiled as she advanced toward him.

"The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll," she said, making him chuckle. "As a paying customer." She threw a dime at him, which he caught with ease, still smiling. "I expect to get what I want," she finished with an exaggerated posh accent, making his grin widen.

She stepped back, both of their smiles slightly faltering as she began to part the kimono. The blue stone laid on her creamy breast. Her heart was pounding as she slowly lowered the robe.

Jack looked so stricken, it was almost comical.

The kimono dropped to the floor, and he couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful, creamy and smooth skin— there were a few scars, but, overlooking them, she was as beautiful and perfect as a goddess can be.

Jack sucked in a long breath before pointing on the divan, saying, "Over on the bed— the couch."

Nodding, Avery said, "Tell me when it looks right to you," as she walked over to it. She sat on the divan and laid her body back into the throw pillows, look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell her how to position herself.

"Uh... just bend your left leg a little," he instructed her, the nervousness clear in his voice as it was somewhat trembling. "And... and lower your head. Eyes to me. That's it."

As he began to sketch her down, he dropped his pencil and she stifled a laugh as she noticed him trying to keep a straight face.

"Why so serious?" she asked, in a funny tone, scrunching her eyebrows a bit. That made him smile and chuckle as he continued. It was silent for a moment as she watched how his hair fell into eyes and with a quick flick of his head he got it back in place, how he would squint his eyes every now and then while he worked on small details, and how, at one point, as he carefully smudged a line he bit his lower lip and blushed, glancing quickly up at her as though to check if she hadn't noticed, but she did.

"I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste," she teased, causing him to smile, embarrassed. "I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing."

Slightly sweating by now, Jack faked a glare at her and replied, "He does landscapes."

She smiled and chuckled. "I know."

That made him laugh a little and shake his head as he resumed his drawing. She had made a perfect portrait of him without even knowing him, and he wanted to return the favor.

"Just relax your face," he told her softly.

"Sorry," she apologized, closing her eyes.

"No laughing."

She kept her eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath before reopening them and putting on a straight face, studying Jack as his eyes came up to look at her over the top edge of his sketchpad. Her mind went blank for a moment as she soaked in this image of him into her memory. It was a beautiful image of a beautiful young man. An image she knew she'd carry the rest of her life if she survived the sinking of the Titanic.

Despite his nervousness, Jack drew with sure strokes, and what emerged was the best thing he had ever done. Her pose was languid, her hands beautiful, and her eyes radiate her energy. Her heart was pounding the whole time. It was the most erotic moment of her life... up till then at least.

A few more minutes passed before Jack was done and was signing the drawing. Avery, wearing her kimono again, was leaning on his shoulder, watching, gazing intently at the portrait of her naked body. She was amazed; he had X-rayed her soul.

"Date it, Jack," she murmured softly into his ear, unbeknown to her that that had made him shiver as her eyes were locked on the drawing. "I want to always remember this night."

He did: _April 14, 1912_.

Avery meanwhile scribbles a note on a piece of Titanic stationery.

"While you're at it," Jack said, making her look up at him curiously. She blinked in surprise when she saw him holding the portrait she'd drawn of him. "Would you mind giving me an autograph?" he asked with a grin on his face.

She smiled and signed her real name at the bottom before handing it back to him as he handed her the portrait he'd just made of her. She accepted the drawing from him and crossed to the safe in the wardrobe. She put the diamond back in the safe, placing the drawing and the note on top of it, before closing the door with a _CLUNK_.

In the first class smoking room, Lovejoy entered from the Palm Court through the revolving door and crossed the room toward Hockley. A fire was blazing in the marble fireplace, and the usual fat cats were playing cards, drinking and talking. When Caledon saw Lovejoy, he detached himself from his group and made his way over to him.

"None of the stewards have seen her," Lovejoy informed him.

Caledon scowled and replied in a low but forceful tone, "This is ridiculous, Lovejoy. Find her."

The Titanic glided across an unnatural sea, black and calm as a pool of oil. The ship's lights were mirrored almost perfectly in the black water. The sky was brilliant with stars, a meteor tracing a bright line across the heavens.

On the bridge, Captain Smith peered out at the blackness ahead of the ship. A few silent moments passed before Quartermaster Hitchins brought him a cup of hot tea with lemon. It steamed in the bitter cold of the open bridge. Second Officer Lightoller was next to him, staring out at the sheet of black glass the Atlantic had become.

"I don't think I've ever seen such a flat calm, in twenty-four years at sea," said Lightoller.

"Yes, like a mill pond," the Captain agreed. "Not a breath of wind."

"It makes the bergs harder to see, with no breaking water at the base."

Smith nodded, then sighed. "Mmmmm. Well, I'm off. Maintain speed and heading, Mr. Lightoller."

"Yes, sir."

"And wake me, of course, if anything becomes in the slightest degree doubtful."

Avery, fully dressed now, returned to the sitting room, where Jack stood waiting for her. They froze when they heard a key in the lock, though Avery was first to react as she took Jack's hand and lead him silently through the bedrooms.

Lovejoy entered by the sitting room door. "Miss Rose? Hello?" He heard a door opening and went through Caledon's room toward hers, but no one was there.

Avery and Jack came out of her stateroom, closing the door. She lead him quickly along the corridor toward the B Deck foyer. They were halfway across the open space when the sitting room door opens in the corridor and Lovejoy came out. The valet saw Jack with Avery and hustled after them.

Eyes widening, Avery exclaimed, "Run!" And she and Jack broke into a run, surprising the few ladies and gentlemen about. Avery lead him past the stairs to the bank of elevators. They ran into one, shocking the hell out of the operator.

"Take us down," she commanded. "Quickly, quickly!"

The Operator scrambled to comply. Jack even helped him close the steel gate. Lovejoy ran up as the lift started to descend and slammed one hand on the bars of the gate. Deciding to just be herself, Avery made a very rude and unladylike gesture and laughed as Lovejoy disappears above.

The Operator gaped at her.

She looked at him and shrugged nonchalantly. "Never judge a book by its cover, my good sir," she told him, dropping the British accent she'd had to use for days, making Jack laugh.

When they emerged from the lift, Jack practically fell out, bumping into a passing steward, making Avery snicker.

"Sorry," he apologized, laughing as well as he took Avery's hand and they continued running.

They descended another staircase that leads down to the F-Deck: a functional space, with access to a number of machine spaces (fan rooms, boiler uptakes). As they reached the bottom, Jack practically crashed into another steward, apologizing again, through his laughter and continued to run down the hall until they reached the middle and he and Avery stopped, leaning against a wall, laughing.

Lovejoy emerged from another lift and ran to the one Jack and Rose were in, where the Operator was just closing the gate to go back up. Lovejoy ran around the bank of elevators and scanned the foyer... no Jack and Avery. He then scurried toward a staircase, not giving up the chase.

"Pretty tough for a valet, this fella," Jack commented after their laughter had slightly dimmed down. "He seems more like a cop!"

"I think he was. He's an ex-Pinkerton.... whatever the hell that is," she told him, making him laugh. "Cal's father hired him to keep him out of trouble... to make sure he always got back to the hotel with his wallet and watch, after some crawl through the less reputable parts of town..."

Jack grinned and advanced toward her. He took her hands and leaned his head down toward hers. "Kinda like we're doin' right now, huh?" His grin never faltering, he leaned further down, about to kiss her, but stopped himself when he saw someone passed the small round window of the door they were leaning beside. He squinted his eyes, unsure of what he was seeing, then groaned. "Shit!"

Avery followed his gaze and her eyes soon widened like a deer caught in daylight.

"Go!" she exclaimed.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her back into a ran, but Lovejoy had already spotted them and had begun charging toward them. Jack and Avery ran around a corner into a blind alley. There was one door, marked 'CREW ONLY', and Jack flung it open. They entered a roaring ran room, with no way out but a ladder going down. Jack latched the deadbolt on the door, and Lovejoy slammed against it a moment later.

Jack grinned at Avery, pointing to the ladder. "Mind if I go first, m'lady?"

"By all means," she replied, motioning toward their only exit.

The pair came down the escape ladder and looked around in amazement. It was like a vision of hell itself, with the roaring furnaces and black figures moving in the smoky glow. They ran the length of the boiler room, dodging amazed stokers, and trimmers with their wheelbarrows of coal.

"Oi! Hold up! What are you two doing down here?" one of the workers asked them. They looked at him. "You shouldn't be down here, it could be dangerous!"

But they dismissed his warning and resumed their running.

"Carry on! Don't mind us!" Jack shouted over the din, making Avery laugh. "You're doing a great job— keep up the good work!"

They ran through the open watertight door into Boiler Room Six. Jack pulled her through the fiercely hot alley between two boilers and they wound up in the dark, out of sight of the working crew. Watching from the shadows, they saw the stokers working in the hellish glow, shoveling coal into the insatiable maws of the furnaces. The whole place thundered with the roar of the fires.

Amid unparalleled luxury, Caledon sat at a card game, sipping brandy.

"We're going like hell, I tell you," said Colonel Gracie. "I have fifty dollars that says we make it into New York Tuesday night!"

Caledon looked at his gold pocket watch, and scowled, not listening.

In the boiler room, the furnaces roared, silhouetting the glistening stokers. Jack grabbed pulled Avery back and locked eyes with her, as though he were silently asking permission for what he was about to do next. When she didn't recoil, he leaned down, and though still somewhat hesitant, kissed her, tasting the sweat trickling down from her forehead. When she didn't pull away, he slipped a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. They kissed passionately in the steamy, pounding darkness. Their tongues met in the fiery kiss. The heat between their lips made a moan escape Avery's lips as he slid his hands down to her waist, his lips finding their way back and forth between her neck and her lips. She felt the hot friction between them become unbearable, yet they didn't stop as they were so lost into each other.

Finally, needing air, Avery pulled away and they both looked at each other for a moment before laughing. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the steamy corridor toward another door.

When he opened it, they found themselves facing rows of stacked cargo. She hugged herself against the cold, after the dripping heat of the boiler room, as they came upon William Carter's brand new Renault touring car, lashing down to a pallet. It looked like a royal coach from a fairy tale, its brass trim, and headlamps nicely set off by its deep burgundy color. Avery climbed into the plushly upholstered back seat, acting very royal. There were cut crystals bud vases on the walls back there, each containing a rose. Jack jumped into the driver's seat, enjoying the feel of the leather and wood, and honked the horn.

"Where to, Miss?" he asked in a posh accent.

Avery laughed and leaned forward, bringing her lips to his ear. "To the stars!" she whispered.

He looked at her and laughed when she suddenly pulled him over the seat into the back. He landed next to her, and his breath seemed loud in the quiet darkness. He looked at her, wrapping an arm around her, his other hand holding onto hers, fingers intertwining.

It was the moment of truth.

"Are you nervous?" he breathed out the question.

Avery shook her head, giving him a small smile. "No," she murmured.

He stroked her face, cherishing her. She grabbed his hand again and kissed his fingers; he had such fine hands, artists' hands, but strong too... roughened by work. She knew if she survived that night, she would always remember his tender touch.

"Make love to me, Jack," she whispered. He watched her as she guided his hand down to her breast, then, without wasting another second, he devoured her mouth with his, as she slid down in the seat under his welcome weight.

Her tongue was dancing in his mouth and she couldn't suppress the fire that was building up inside of her like a slowly erupting volcano. She felt his hands moving around her body, and the next thing she knew, her clothes along with his were on the floor of the car and they were staring into each other's eyes as though to confirm that this was really happening. As though to make sure that they were both real and both really there.

When they seemed to get there answer, merely within a second, their lips had crashed back together. He drank into her like he'd never tasted anything so sweet, so necessary and never with so much lust than for this girl that had made him wait, though it had only been for three days.

When they pulled away, her eyes closed as she tried to calm down her breathing, listening to his loud and rapid heartbeat beating against his sweaty chest that was pressed against hers. She felt his warm breath hit her around the ear, feeling his lips trace the outline of the skin. She shivered as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, moving downward to tug at her earlobe. It was gentle, but feisty at the same time. The tips of his dirty blond hair skimmed across her right cheek, his arms tightening around her waist as he lifted her tad bit as he pressed the head of his member against her womanhood. He felt the head twitch with excitement as he began to invade her. He throbbed madly inside of her while he slowly pushed himself all the way into her. His groan of pleasure was muffled by her shoulder and he bit it gently, causing her to gasp, not from the bite, but from the slight pain the sudden penetration brought along. It wasn't as painful as she expected it to be, though it was still there along with pure bliss as he opened her.

Once he was buried to the hilt, he stopped, lifting his head from her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She let out a soft breath and nodded her head slowly. "Yeah, it's just... this is my first time," she whispered.

He gave her a slightly tired grin and kissed her jaw. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, it's my first time too," he murmured.

She smiled a bit before she started moving her hips against his. He took that as a go and resumed his action. Drawing out slowly, he thrust forward into her as she hung on to him, her hips moving to meet his as they moved as one.

His wet hair fell into his eyes and moved back and forth in rhythm to their movements, and unsteady breathing, and between the slick sounds of sex and humid air, the windows of the Renault had fogged up. After a moment, he paused and he pressed his lips to hers, then resumed his movements, forcing himself more. It wasn't long until he could feel her tighten; constricting him, hearing her moan his name as if that was the only word she knew. The warmth of her climax slipped down his member. At this point, she didn't expect him to last much longer, but he did.

He leaned back and lifted her leg over his hip, grabbing her by the hips, her arms still around his neck. He lifted her with him, so she straddled his legs, and their thrusting continued. Their bodies were rubbing together; he kissed her neck, breasts, shoulders, and mouth, whispering her name against her ear, and moaning against her body.

Albeit them being in a car and somewhat on the run, there was a completeness to having Jack's body heat curling around her like a warm blanket, and a tenderness to his arms holding her. His skin was glossy with a thin sheen of sweat, his hair falling from where it usually stayed parted, away from his eyes. She stroked his shoulders, gently digging her nails into his back when more waves of pleasure and climax overtook her body.

Then she felt it, his chest tightened, and he slumped forward against her. He began to thrust up against her, and she knew he wasn't going to last very long. She let herself fall back into the seat of the Renault and Jack take charge again. His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing coming in short gasps. Under the impact of each thrust, Avery subconsciously put an arm around his neck to keep herself in place, and the other came up and slammed against the fogged up glass of the rear window for a moment, making a hand-print in the veil of condensation.

"Jack..." she moaned his name again, arching into him, pulsing her muscles around him. He thrust into her a few more times before he felt that deep pang within his chest as the pleasure surged hard through him, it felt like electricity hit him as his body froze, his manhood buried deep into her.

He pulled out of her and let out a shaky breath as his body trembled as he came down from the high. He lay on top of her as she drew the overcoat he snatched over them like a blanket.

It stirred a bit and Avery pulled it a bit down. They were huddled under it, intertwined, their faces flushed as they look at each other wonderingly. She put her hand on his face as if making sure he was real.

"You're trembling," she whispered.

He gave her a tender look, smiled and replied, "Don't worry, I'm alright." He kissed her again, then slid down, laying his cheek against her chest, feeling her lips press softly against her forehead before. "I can feel your heart beating."

She smiled softly and hugged his head to her chest, and just held on for dear life as sadness began to take over her once more.

 _Just four hours left_...


	11. It's happening...

Caledon stood at the open safe. He stared at the drawing of Rose and his face clenched with fury as his eyes found the note she left once more and read it again:

 _Darling,_  
Now you can keep us both locked in your safe,  
Rose.

 _P.S. My name **really** isn't Rose. On another note_ — _Peace out, Sucker!_

Lovejoy, standing behind him, looked over his shoulder at the drawing. Caledon crumpled Rose's not, then took the drawing in both hands as if to rip it in half.

He tensed to do it, then stopped himself.

"I have a better idea."

Into the room that contained the rows of stacked cargo, two stewards entered. They had electric torches and played the beams around the hold. They spotted the Renault with its fogged up rear window and approached it slowly. Noticing the passionate hand-print Avery had left behind, they tip-toed their way to the door as quietly as possible.

One steward whipped open the door. "Got yer!" But, really, he got nothing; the back seat is empty.

Avery and Jack, fully dressed, came through a crew door onto the deck. They could barely stand as they were laughing so hard. Up above them, in the crow's nest lookout, Fleet heard the disturbance below and looked around and back down to the well-deck, where he saw two figures embracing. Jack and Avery stood in each other's arms. Their breath clouded around them in the now freezing air, but they didn't even feel the cold.

"When this ship docks... if we don't— if I don't go back, I'm getting off with you," the young woman told him.

She knew the disaster she anticipated since before she boarded the ship was nearing, but she just wanted him to know; if they survived, and there was no way for her to go back to her time, she would stay with him and go wherever with him. It had only been three days that they'd known each other, but in that small amount of time, he had become her world— he was now the world she knew she would no longer be able to live without.

"This is crazy," the young man replied, but he was grinning widely as he held her.

Avery smiled and brought a hand to the side of his face. "I know. It doesn't make any sense," she said, caressing his cheek. "But that's why I trust it."

Jack stared into her eyes for a moment, then pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely.

In the crow's nest, Fleet nudged Lee. "Cor... look at that, would ya."

"They're a bloody sight warmer than we are," Lee muttered.

"Well if that's what it takes for us two to get warm, I'd rather not, if it's all the same."

They both had a good laugh at that one. It was Fleet whose expression fell first, though. Glancing forward again, he did a double take, and the color drained out of his face: a massive iceberg was right in their path, five hundred yards out.

"Bugger me!!" Fleet reached past Lee and rang the lookout bell three times, then grabbed the telephone, calling the bridge. He waited precious seconds for it to be picked up, never taking his eyes off the black mass ahead.

"Pick up, ya bastard," he grunted nervously.

Inside the enclosed wheelhouse on the bridge, Sixth Officer Moody walked unhurriedly to the telephone, picking it up.

" _Is someone there?_ "

"Yes. What do you see?" Moody asked.

"Iceberg right ahead!"

"Thank you." Moody then hung up and made a call to Murdoch. "Iceberg right ahead!"

Murdoch saw it and rushed to the engine room telegraph. While signaling "FULL SPEED ASTERN", he yelled to Quartermaster Hitchins, who was at the wheel.

"Hard a' starboard," Murdoch called out.

Standing behind Hitchins, Moody repeated, "Hard'a starboard. The helm is hard over, sir."

the chief engineer Bell was just checking the soup he had warming on a steam manifold when the engine telegraph clanged, then went... incredibly... to full speed astern. He and the other engineers just stared at it a second, unbelieving.

Then Bell reacted. "Full astern! FULL ASTERN!!"

The engineers and greasers like madmen to close steam valved and started braking the mighty propeller shafts, big as Sequoias, to a stop. In Boiler Room Six, Leading Stoker Frederick Barrett was standing with Engineer James Hesketh when the red warning light and "STOP" indicator came on.

"Shut all dampers!" Barrett commanded. "Shut 'em!!"

From the bridge, Murdoch watched the burg growing... straight ahead. The bow finally started to come left, since the ship turned the reverse of the helm setting. Murdoch's jaw clenched as the bow turned with agonizing slowness. He held his breath as the horrible physics played out. In the crow's nest, Frederick Fleet braced himself. The bow of the ship thundered and—

_KRUUUNCH!!_

The ship hit the berg on its starboard bow. Underwater, the ice smashed straight in the steel hull plates. The iceberg bumped and scraped along the side of the ship. Rivets popped as the steel plate of the hull flexed under the load. In the second hold, the two stewards staggered as the hull buckled in four feet with a sound like thunder. Like a sledgehammer beating along outside the ship, the berg split the hull plates and the sea poured in, sweeping them off their feet. The icy water swirled around the Renault as the men scramble for the stairs. On G-Deck, forward Fabrizio was tossed in his bunk by the impact. He heard a sound like the greatly amplified squeal of a skate on ice. In Boiler Room Six, Barret and Hesketh staggered as they heard the rolling thunder of the collision. They saw the starboard side of the ship buckle in toward them and were almost swept off their feet by a rush of water coming in about two feet above the floor.

On the forward well deck, Avery and Jack broke their kiss and looked up in astonishment as the berg sailed past, blocking out the sky like a mountain.

 _Never in my life, have I ever thought that one day, I would witness this myself_ , Avery thought as she began to feel nervous, her heart racing and pounding hard against her chest that was pressed against Jack's. Fragments broke off the berg and crashed down onto the deck, and they had to jump back to avoid flying chunks of ice.

On the bridge, Murdoch rang the watertight door alarm. He quickly threw the switch that closed them. "Hard a 'port!" Judging the berg to be amidships, he was trying to clear the stern. Barrett and Hesketh heard the door alarm and scrambled through the swirling water to the watertight door between Boiler Rooms Six and Five. The room was full of water vapor as the cold sea stroke the red-hot furnaces.

Barrett yelled to the stokers scrambling through the door as it came down like a slow guillotine. "Go Lads! Go! Go!" He dived through into Boiler Room Five just before the door rumbled down with a _CLANG_.

Avery and Jack rushed to the starboard rail in time to see the berg moving aft down the side of the ship. In his stateroom, surrounded by piles of plans while making notes in his ever-present book, Andrews looked up at the sound of a cut-crystal light fixture tinkling like a wind chime. He felt the shudder run through the ship. It was clear in his face; too much of his soul was in that great ship for him not to feel its mortal wound. In the First Class smoking room, Gracie watched his highball vibrating on the table.

In the Palm Court, with its high arched windows, Molly Brown held up her drink to a passing waiter. "Hey, can I get some ice here, please?"

Silently, a moving wall of ice filled the window behind her. She didn't see it, though, as it disappeared astern.

Omitted in the crow's nest, Fleet turned to Lee. "Oy, mate... that was a close shave."

But Lee only frowned. "Smell ice, can you? Bleedin' Christ!"

On the bridge, the alarm bells still clattered mindlessly, seeming to reflect Murdoch's inner state. He was in shock, unable to get a grip on what just happened. He just ran the biggest ship in history into an iceberg on its maiden voyage.

Murdoch turned to Moody and told him rather stiffly, "Note the time. Enter it in the log."

Captain Smith rushed out of his cabin onto the bridge, tucking in his shirt. "What was that, Mr. Murdoch?"

"An iceberg, sir. I put her hard a' starboard and run the engines full astern, but it was too close. I tried to port around it, but she hi... and I—"

"Close the emergency doors."

"The doors are closed."

Together they rushed out onto the starboard wing, and Murdoch pointed. Smith looked into the darkness aft, then wheeled around to Fourth Officer Bohall.

"Find the Carpenter and get him to sound the ship," he ordered.

In steerage on the G-Deck, Fabrizio came out into the hall to see what was going on. He saw dozens of rats running toward him in the corridor, fleeing the flooding bow.

Fabrizio jumped aside as the rats ran by. "Ma— che cazzo!"

In his stateroom, Tommy got out of his top bunk in the dark and dropped down to the floor.

_SPLASH!!_

"Cor!! What in hell—?!" He napped on the light; the floor was covered with three inches of freezing water, and more coming in. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the corridor, which was flooded and found Fabrizio running toward him, yelling something in Italian. Tommy and Fabrizio then started pounding on doors, getting everybody up and out; the alarm spread in several languages.

In a First Class corridor on the A-Deck, a couple of people had come out into the corridor in robes and slippers. A steward hurried along, reassuring them.

"Why have the engines stopped?" asked a woman. "I felt a shudder."

The steward gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster, and said, "I shouldn't worry, m'am. We've likely thrown a propeller blade, that's the shudder you felt. May I bring you anything?"

But the woman did not answer, as her eyes were on Thomas Andrews, who brushed past them, walking fast and carrying an armload of rolled up ship's plans.

Back near the apex of the bow railing; near Jack's favorite spot, Avery and Jack were leaning over the starboard rail, looking at the hull of the ship.

"Looks okay," said Jack. "I don't see anything."

"But it could have damaged the ship," said Avery, brows furrowed, lip sucked between her teeth in anxiety.

Jack, trying to reassure her, wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. "It didn't seem like much of a bump. I'm sure we're okay."

She looked at him, eyes filled with fear. "That's just it, Jack, we're not."

Jack found himself having a hard time concentrating on what she meant as, behind them, a couple of steerage guys were kicking the ice around the deck, laughing.

"Come on, let's go up," said Avery, pulling Jack out of his thoughts. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward stairs that led to the Well Deck, which was beginning to fill with more people who were coming to see what was going on as well.

As Jack began to lead the way up the stairs, Avery found herself frowning when she saw a couple of gentlemen she recognized from the times Ruth had forced her out of her cabin to eat. They were now joined by another man who leaned on the forward rail watching the steerage men playing soccer with chunks of ice.

"I guess it's nothing too serious," said one of the gentlemen whose Avery couldn't seem to remember. "I'm going back to my cabin to read."

A Yale man in his twenties then popped through the door wearing a topcoat over pajamas.

"Say, did I miss the fun?"

Avery and Jack walked up the last few steps from the well-deck, which were right next to the three men. They stared as the couple climbed over the locked gate. A moment later Captain Smith rounded the corner, followed by Andrews and Carpenter Hutchinson. They had come down from the bridge by the outside stairs. The three men, their faces grim, crushed right past Avery and Jack, Andrews barely glancing her way.

"Can you shore up?" asked Smith.

Hutchinson shook his head. "Not unless the pumps get ahead." And the inspection party went down the stairs to the well-deck.

"This is bad," said Jack, finally agreeing with Avery.

"I know," she breathed out, causing him to look down at her.

"You knew about this?"

"Jack..." She swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath as she looked up at him, straight in the eyes. "When I said 'the possibility of this ship sinking is freakin' high'?" He nodded, waiting for her to go on. "I meant it. The Titanic collided with an iceberg on the night of the fourteenth of April, 1912, and sank completely in the North Atlantic Ocean, very early the next morning. Many survived... but many also died."

Her heart clenched as she looked over at the many people beginning to rush about. "I... I have to tell Ruth and Caledon," she said.

He gave her a disbelieving look. "Now it's worse."

Avery threw her head back, letting out another shaky breath, internally agreeing with him; she didn't like Ruth or Caledon, but, as much as she disliked them, she didn't want them to die— she wasn't that bad a person to want that for them.

She looked back at him. "Come with me, Jack." She hesitated, then asked in a hopeful voice, "I jump, you jump... Right?"

He gave her a soft smile, caressing her cheek as he nodded. "Right."

And with that said, Jack followed her through the door inside the ship. Jack and Avery crossed the foyer, entering the corridor. Lovejoy was waiting for them in the hall as they approached the room.

"We've been looking for you, Miss."

Avery frowned slightly as he followed them and, unseen, moved close behind Jack and smoothly slipped the diamond necklace into the pocket of his overcoat.

In Avery and Caledon's suite, Caledon and Ruth waited in the sitting room, along with the Master at Arms and two stewards. It was deadly quiet as Avery and Jack entered. Ruth closed her robe at her throat when she sees Jack.

"Something serious has happened," Avery announced as calmly as she could.

"That's right. Two things dear to me have disappeared this evening."

Avery looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

But Caledon continued as though she had not uttered a word. "Now that one is back..." He looked from Avery to Jack. "... I have a pretty good idea where to find the other." He turned to Master at Arms. "Search him."

The Master at Arms stepped up to Jack. "Coat off, mate." Lovejoy pulled at Jack's coat and Jack shook his head in dismay, shrugging out of it. The Master at Arms patted him down.

"This is horseshit," Jack muttered.

"Caledon, you can't be serious!" Avery exclaimed, face flushing red to the roots of her hair. "We're in the middle of an emergency and you—"

Steward Barnes suddenly pulled the Heart of the Ocean out of the pocket of Jack's coat.

"Is this it?"

Avery was stunned. Needless to say, so was Jack.

"That's it," Caledon confirmed.

The Master of Arms nodded. "Right then. Now don't make a fuss," he said as he began to handcuff Jack.

"Don't you believe it, Rose," Jack said. "Don't!"

Avery frowned. "He couldn't have." Of course he couldn't have— they took off each other's clothes, for goodness' sake!

"Of course he could," Caledon said casually. "Easy enough for a professional. He memorized the combination when you opened the safe."

"But I was with him the whole time," Avery protested.

"Maybe he did it while you were putting your clothes back on," said Caledon, only to her, in a low and cold voice.

"They put it in my pocket!" Jack insisted.

"It's not even your pocket, son," said Lovejoy, holding the coat. "Property of A. L. Ryerson," read Lovejoy, showing the coat to the Master at Arms. There was a label inside the collar with the owner's name.

"That was reported stolen today."

"I was going to return it!" Jack defended himself. "Ave—"

The guilt rushed through her veins as she looked at him, subconsciously shrinking away from him slightly. She knew he was telling truth. She knew that Caledon was the one to have concocted the whole ordeal and found a way to somehow put the jewel in Jack's pocket in order to frame him. But she also knew there was nothing she could do; everything she'd try to do, Caledon would only find a way around it and twist her words to give himself the appearance of the voice of reason in the situation.

Her breath got caught in her throat and her heart nearly stopped when the young man she fell in love with began to shout at her as Lovejoy and the Master at Arms dragged him out into the hall. She couldn't look him in the eye; she couldn't bear seeing him being taken away from her.

"Avery, don't listen to them... I didn't do this! You know I didn't! You know it!"

Caledon scuffed. "Look at _it_ , doesn't even know her name," he said under his breath, though Avery had very well heard him as she turned and glared at him, ignoring the supposedly comforting hand Ruth had placed on her shoulder.

"Why do women believe men?" said Ruth, and Avery turned to glare at her.

"Because not all of them are the same," the young woman replied coldly.

It seemed as though only a few seconds passed before Avery found herself alone with Ruth and Caledon in the sitting room, though the silence lingering in the air seemed to last an agonizing forever. Avery, who had quietly settled on the divan she had been laying on earlier for her portrait, jumped slightly, startled when knocking came from the door, and voices were heard from the corridor.

"I had better go dress," Ruth said suddenly, before exiting the room, leaving the fiancés alone.

Hockley suddenly crossed to Avery, regarded her coldly for a moment, then slapped her across the face.

"It is a little slut, isn't it?"

To Avery, the blow was inconsequential compared to the blow her heart had been given. Caledon grabbed her shoulders roughly, but she did not meet his eyes, nor did she say anything as she knew if she did either, she would do or say something she might regret. "Look at me, you little—"

There was a loud knock on the door and an urgent voice. The door opened and their steward, Barnes, put his head in. "Sir, I've been told to ask you to please put on your lifebelt, and come up to the Boat Deck."

"Get out. We're busy," Caledon practically hissed.

The steward persisted, coming in to get the lifebelts down from the top of a dresser. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Hockley, but it's Captain's orders. Please dress warmly, it's quite cold tonight," he said, handing Avery a lifebelt. "Not to worry, miss, I'm sure it's just a precaution."

Caledon let out an exasperated sigh. "This is ridiculous."

In the corridor outside, the stewards were being so polite and obsequious they were conveying no sense of danger whatsoever. However, it's another story in the steerage berthing aft, where it was as dark as a part in a ship can be...


	12. I trust you with my life

_BANG!_

The door of the steerage berthing aft was thrown open and the lights snapped on by a steward. The Cartmell family roused from a sound sleep.

"Everybody up. Let's go. Put your lifebelts on."

In the corridor outside, another steward was going from door to door along the hall, pouncing and yelling. "Lifebelts on! Lifebelts on! Everybody up, come on. Lifebelts on!"

People came out of the doors behind the steward, perplexed. In the foreground, a Syrian woman asked her husband what was said, but he only shrugged, not understanding a word of English.

In the wireless room, Philips was looking around, shocked. "CQD, sir?"

Smith nodded. "That's right. The distress call. CQD. Tell whoever responds that we are going down by the head and need immediate assistance," he told him before hurrying out of the room.

Philips let out a heavy breath. "Blimey. "

The bride sent him a halfhearted grin. "Maybe you ought to try that new distress call... S.O.S. It may be our only chance to use it."

Phillips laughed in spite of himself and started sending history's first S.O.S. _Dit dit dit, da da da, dit dit dit_... over and over.

On the Boat Deck, Andrews looked around in amazement. The deck was empty except for the crew fumbling with the davits. He yelled over the roar of the steam to First Officer Murdoch.

"Where are all the passengers?"

"They've all gone back inside," Murdoch replied. "Too damn cold and noisy for them."

Andrews felt like he was in a bad dream. He looked at his pocket watch and headed for the foyer entrance.

On the A-deck foyer, a large number of First Class passengers had gathered near the staircase. They were getting indignant about the confusion.

Molly Brown snagged a passing young steward. "What's doing, sonny? You've got us all trussed up and now we're cooling our heels."

The young steward backed away, actually stumbling on the stairs. "Sorry, mum. Let me go and find out."

The jumpy piano rhythm of "Alexander's Ragtime Band" came out of the first class lounge a few yards away. The band leader Wallace Hartley had assembled some of his men on Captain's orders, to allay panic. Caledon's entourage soon came up to the A-deck foyer, Caledon, himself, carrying the lifebelts, almost as an afterthought. Avery was like a sleepwalker.

"It's just the God damned English doing everything by the book," said Caledon.

"There's no need for language, Mr. Hockley," Ruth said sternly before turning to Trudy. "Go back and turn the heater on in my room, so it won't be too cold when we get back."

Avery sent a sideways glance her way. "There's no need for that," she muttered under her breath.

Thomas Andrews then entered, looking around the magnificent room, which he knew was doomed. Avery, standing nearby, saw his heartbroken expression and immediately walked over to him, ignoring the fact that Caledon decided to follow her.

"I saw the iceberg, Mr. Andrews," she said softly, not bothering to care about the skeptical look she was getting from Caledon for her accent. "And I see it in your eyes. Please tell me the truth." _Even if I already know it_.

Andrews sighed. "The ship will sink."

"You're certain?" _Of course he is, you idiot! So are you, you already know its history..._

"Yes. In an hour or so... all this... will be at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"My God." Now it was Caledon's turn to look stunned. The Titanic? Sinking?

"Please tell only who you must, I don't want to be responsible for a panic. And get to a boat quickly. Don't wait. You remember what I told you about the boats?"

Avery nodded. "Yes, I understand. Thank you."

And Andrews went off, moving among the passengers and urging them to put on their lifebelts and get to the boats.

Meanwhile, in the Master at Arms office, Lovejoy and the Master at Arms were handcuffing Jack to a water pipe as a crewman rushed in anxiously and almost blurted to the Master at Arms—

"You're wanted by the Purser, sir. Urgently."

"Go on. I'll keep an eye on him," said Lovejoy.

Lovejoy pulled a pearl-handled Colt .45 automatic from under his coat. The Master at Arms nodded and tossed the handcuff key to Lovejoy, then exited with the crewman. Tauntingly, Lovejoy began to flip the key in the air and catch it multiple times.

On the bridge, Junior Wireless Operator Bride was relaying a message to Captain Smith from the Cunard Liner Carpathia.

"Carpathia says they're making seventeen knots, full steam for them, sir."

Smith nodded stiffly. "And she's the only one who's responding? "

"The only one close, sir. She says they can be here in four hours."

Smith turned and gave him an alarmed look. "Four hours!" The enormity of it hit Smith like a sledgehammer blow. "Thank you, Bride." He turned as Bride exited, and looked out onto the blackness. "My God," he mumbled."

On the Boat Deck below, Lightoller had his boats swung out. He was standing amidst a crowd of uncertain passengers in all states of dress and undress.

One first class woman was even barefoot. Others were in stockings. The maitre of the restaurant was in top hat and overcoat. Others were still in evening dress, while some were in bathrobes and kimonos. Women are wearing lifebelts over velvet gowns, then topping it with sable stoles. Some brought jewels, others books, even small dogs.

Lightoller saw Smith walking stiffly toward him and quickly went to him. He yelled into the Captain's ear, through cupped hands, over the roar of the steam. "Hadn't we better get the women and children into the boats, sir?"

Smith simply nodded, a bit abstractly; the fire had gone out of him.

Lightoller saw the awesome truth in Smith's face, then turned to shout at the men. "Right! Start the loading. Women and children!"

The appalling din of escaping steam abruptly cut off, leaving a sudden unearthly silence in which Lightoller's voice echoed.

Further down the deck, the music band had reassembled just outside the First Class Entrance, on the port side, near where Lightoller was calling for the boats to be loaded.

Wallace Hartley, the leader of the band, raised his violin to play. "Number 26," he said. "Ready and—"

And they stroke up a waltz, lively and elegant. The music wafted all over the ship.

"Ladies, please," Lightoller's voice carried out loudly. "Step into the boat."

Finally, one woman steps across the gap, into the boat, terrified of the drop to the water far below. "You watch," she said. "They'll put us off in these silly little boats to freeze, and we'll all be back on board by breakfast."

At that moment, Caledon, Avery, and Ruth came out of the doors near the band.

"My brooch," Ruth said suddenly, causing Avery to look at her curiously. "I left my brooch." Avery rolled her eyes as Ruth began to panic over the silly hair accessory. "I must have it!" Ruth turned back to go to her room, but Caledon took her by the arm, refusing to let her go. The firmness of his hold surprised her.

"Stay here, Ruth. "

Ruth saw his expression and knew fear for the first time.

Down the corridors and stairwell of the steerage berthing aft, it was chaos, with stewards pushing their way through narrow corridors clogged with people carrying suitcases, duffel bags, children. Some had lifebelts on, others didn't.

"I told the stupid sods no luggage," one steward scolded another. "Aw, bloody hell!" He threw up his hand at the sight of a family, loaded down with cases and bags, completely blocking the corridor.

Fabrizio and Tommy pushed past the stewards, going the other way. They reached a huge crowd gathered at the bottom of the main Third Class stairwell. Fabrizio spotted Helga with the rest of the Dahl family, standing patiently with suitcases in hand. He reached her and she grinned, hugging him. Tommy pushed to where he could see what was holding up the group. There was a steel gate across the top of the stairs, with several stewards and seamen on the other side.

"Stay calm, please. It's not time to go up to the boats yet," said one of the stewards.

Near Tommy, an Irish woman stood stoically with two small children and their battered luggage.

"What are we doing, mummy?" her son asked.

She gave him a small reassuring smile. "We're just waiting, dear. When they finish putting First Class people in the boats, they'll be startin' with us, and we'll want to be all ready, won't we?"

Out on the Starboard side, the Boat 7 was less than half full, with twenty-eight people aboard a boat made for sixty-five.

"Lower away!" Murdoch commanded. "By the left and right together, steady lads!"

The boat lurched as the falls started to pay out through the pulley blocks. The women gasped. The boat descended, swaying and jerking, toward the water sixty feet below. The passengers were terrified.

Down in the Master at Arms office was one of the most sickening men on the ship: Lovejoy, along with poor Jack, who was looking apprehensively at the water rising up the glass, from where he sat, chained to the water pipe, next to the porthole. Lovejoy sat on the edge of a desk, where he put a .45 bullet on the desk and watched it roll across and fall off.

He then picked up the bullet. "You know... I believe this ship may sink," he said before getting up from where he sat and crossing over to Jack. "I've been asked to give you this small token of our appreciation..."

And he punched Jack hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Compliments of Mr. Caledon Hockley."

Lovejoy then flipped the handcuff key in the air, caught it and put it in his pocket with an ugly smirk on his usually straight face, before he exited the room, leaving Jack behind, gasping, still handcuffed to the pipe.

At the stairwell rail on the bridge wing, Fourth Officer Boxhall and Quartermaster Rowe lit the first distress rocket. It shot into the sky and exploded with a thunderclap over the ship, sending out white starbursts which lit up the entire deck as they fell.

Down by the bridge, Ismay, the Managing Director of White Star Line was cracking. Already at the breaking point from his immense guilt, the rocket panicked him even more. He started shouting at the officers struggling with the falls of Boat 5.

"There is no time to waste!" he yelled, waving his arms around in panic. "Lower away! Lower away! Lower away!"

Fifth Officer Lowe, a baby-faced aged of merely twenty-eight, and the youngest officer looked up from the tangled falls at the madman. "Get out of the way, you fool!"

"Do you know who I am?" Ismay all but growled.

Lowe, not having a clue nor caring, squared up to Ismay. "You're a passenger. And I'm a ship's bloody officer. Now do what you're told!" And then, he turned away and resumed his orders. "Steady men! Stand by the falls!"

"Yes, quite right," Ismay mumbled, numbly backing away. "Sorry."

Down on the port side of the Boat Deck, Lightoller was loading the boat nearest Caledon and Avery.

"Women and children only!" he called out. "Sorry sir, no men yet."

Another rocket burst overhead, lighting the crowd. Startled faced turn upward, fear now in the eyes. Daniel Marvin, on the other hand, had his Biograph camera set up, cranking away... hoping to get an exposure off the rocket's light. He had Mary posed in front of the scene at the boats.

"You're afraid, darling. Scared to death. That's it!"

Either she suddenly learned to act or she was truly petrified...

Avery watched the farewells taking pace right in front of her as they stepped closer to the boat. Husbands saying goodbye to wives and children. Lovers and friends parted. Nearby Molly was getting a reluctant woman to board the boat.

"Come on, you heard the man. Get in the boat, sister."

"Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?" Avery rolled her eyes in annoyance; only Ruth would ask that. "I hope they're not too crowded—"

Having had enough, Avery snapped her head her way and glared, cutting her off. "Oh, woman, shut up!" Ruth froze, mouth open. At this point, Avery no longer cared about pretending to be Rose. She wasn't. She was Avery Rosalinda Lovett, a girl who spoke her mind without fear, never mind her life being at stake. "Don't you understand? The water is freezing and there aren't enough boats... not enough by half. Half the people on this ship are going to die."

Though Caledon was not worried, and he feared nothing in admitting it. "Not the better half."

And that hit Avery like a thunderbolt. Jack was third class. He doesn't stand a chance.

Another rocket burst overhead, bathing her face in white light as she turned to glare at the horrible man. "You unimaginable bastard," she growled.

"Come on, Ruth, get in the boat," Molly said. "These are the first class seats right up here. That's it." Molly practically handed her over to Lightoller, then looked around for some other women who might need a push. "Come on, Rose. You're next, darlin'."

But Avery stepped back, shaking her head.

"Rose, get in the boat!" Ruth hissed.

But Avery gave her the cold shoulder. "Goodbye, Mrs. Bukater."

Ruth, standing in the tippy lifeboat, could do nothing. Caledon grabbed Avery's arm, but she pulled free and walked away through the crowd. Cal caught up to Avery and grabbed her again, roughly.

"Where are you going? To him? Is that it? To be a whore to that gutter rat?"

"I'd rather be his whore, than your wife."

He clenched his jaw and squeezed her arm viciously, pulling her back toward the lifeboat, but Avery quickly pulled out a hairpin and jabbed him with it, causing him to her go. She took the opportunity to throw a punch at his face before spinning on her heels and running off into the crowd.

"Lower away!!" Lightoller called out.

Ruth panicked. "Rose! ROSE!!"

Molly rolled her eyes at the dramatic woman. She knew she should worry about the young girl as well, but something told her she would be just fine.

"Stuff a sock in it, would ya, Ruth. She'll be along."

The boat lurched downward as the falls were paid out. Further on deck, Avery ran and ran through the clusters of people. She looked back and a furious Caledon was coming after her. She ran breathlessly up to two proper looking men.

"That man tried to take advantage of me in the crowd!" she said quickly.

Appalled, they turned to see Caledon running toward them. Avery quickly ran on as the two men grabbed him, restraining him. She ran through the First Class entrance, just as Caledon broke free and ran after her. He reached the entrance but ran straight into a knot of people coming out. He pushed rudely through them and ran in, and down to the landing, pushing past the gentlemen and ladies who were filling up the stairs. He scanned the A-deck foyer, but he got nothing of what he was looking for.

She was gone.

The hull of Titanic loomed over Boat 6 like a cliff. Its enormous mass was suddenly threatening to those in the tiny boat. Quartermaster Hitchins, at the tiller, wanted nothing but to get away from the ship. Unfortunately, his two seamen couldn't row. They flailed like a duck with a broken wing.

"Keep pulling... away from the ship," he ordered. "Pull."

"Ain't you boys ever rowed before?" Molly asked in disbelief. "Here, gimme those oars. I'll show ya how it's done." She climbed over Ruth to get at the oars, stepping on her feet. Around them, the evacuation was in full swing, with boats in the water, others being lowered.

Meanwhile, in the Master at Arms office, Jack was alone now, pulling on the pipe with all his strength. It was not budging. He heard a gurgling sound and panicked as he saw water pour under the door, spreading rapidly across the floor.

"Shit." He tried to pull one hand out of the cuffs, working until the skin is raw... no good. "Help!! Somebody!! Can anybody hear me?!" He looked around, then muttered to himself. "This could be bad."

The corridor outside was deserted, flooded a couple of inches deep. Jack's voice was faintly heard through the door, but there was no one to hear it. Down the First Class corridor, Thomas Andrews was opening stateroom doors, checking that people are out.

"Anyone in here?"

That was when Avery ran up to him, breathless. "Mr. Andrews, thank God! Where would the Master at Arms take someone under arrest?!"

He gave her an incredulous look. "What? You have to get to a boat right away!"

She glared at him, her eyes firing with determination. "No! I'll do this with or without your help, sir. But without will take longer."

Andrews looked at her for a moment, then caved in, sighing. "Take the elevator to the very bottom, go left, down the crewman's passage, then make a right."

Avery's glared turned into a relieved grin as she nodded. "Bottom, left, right. I have it."

"Hurry, Rose!" he called after her as she ran off.

Rushing toward the elevator foyer, Avery ran up as the last Elevator Operator that closing up his lift to leave. "Sorry, Miss, lifts are closed—"

Without thinking, she grabbed him and shoved him back into the lift. "I'm through with being polite, goddammit! I may never be polite the rest of my life! Now take me down!!"

Startled, the operator fumbled to close the gate and started the lift. Through the wrought iron door of the elevator car, Avery could see the decks going past. The lift slowed and, suddenly ice water came swirling around her legs. She screamed in surprise, and so did the operator; the car had landed in a foot of freezing water, shocking the hell out of her. She clawed the door open and splashed out, hiking up her floor-length skirt so she could move. The lift went back up, behind her, as she looked around.

"Left, crew passage," she instructed herself.

She spotted it and slogged down the flooded corridor. The place was understandably deserted. She was on her own.

"Right, right... right."

She turned into a cross-corridor, splashing down the hall. A row of doors on each side.

"Where now?!" she whined. She then took a deep breath and called out. "Jack? Jaaacckk?!"

In the Master at Arms office, Jack was hopelessly pulling on the pipe again, straining until he turned red. He collapsed back on the bench, realizing he was screwed.

Then he heard her through the door.

"AVERY?! Avery! In here!"

In the hall, Avery heard his voice behind her, spun around and ran back, locating the right door, then pushed it open, creating a small wave. She splashed over Jack and put her arms around him.

"Jack, Jack, Jack... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

They were both clearly very happy to see each other it was almost embarrassing.

"That guy Lovejoy put it in my pocket," said Jack.

"I know, I know."

"See if you can find a key for these. Try those drawers." He nodded toward the desk. "It's a little brass one."

She nodded, then kissed his face and hugged him again, before starting to go through the desk.

"So... how did you find out I didn't do it?"

"I didn't." She looked at him. "I just realized I already knew."

They shared a look, then she went back to ransacking the room, searching drawers and cupboards. Jack saw movement out the porthole and looked out. Another lifeboat hit the surface of the water. A while later another fell, and he found himself staring at a First Class couple that was looking at him in shock. Jack's senses were snapped back to where he was when he heard Avery let out a stream of curses as she stopped trashing the room, and stood there, breathing hard.

"There's no key in here."

They looked around at the water, now almost two feet deep; Jack had to pull his feet up onto the bench. "You have to go for help."

She nodded. "I'll be right back."

"I'll wait here."

She ran out, looking back at him once from the doorway, then splashed away. She splashed down the hall to a stairwell going up to the next deck, then climbed the stairs, her long skirt leaving a trail like a giant snail. The weight of it was really slowing her down, so she ripped the buttons and shimmied quickly out of the thing. She bound up the stairs in her stockings and knee-length slip, to find herself in a long corridor... part of the labyrinth of steerage hallways forward.

"Oh, come on!" She huffed.

She was alone here. Suddenly, a long groan of stressing metal echoed through the hall as the ship continued to settle. She quickly rushed down the hall, unimpeded now.

"Hello? Somebody?!"

She turned a corner and ran along another corridor in a daze. The hall sloped down into the water which, shimmered, reflecting the light. The margin of the water crept toward her. Suddenly, a young man appeared, running through the water, sending up geysers of spray. He pelted past her without slowing, his eyes crazed...

She gave him a disbelieving look. "Help me! We need help!"

However, he did not look back. It was like a bad dream. The hull gonged with terrifying sounds. The lights flickered and went out, leaving utter darkness. A beat. Then they came back on. She found herself hyperventilating. That one moment of blackness was one of the most terrifying of her life. A steward ran around the nearest corner, his arms full of lifebelts. He was upset to see someone still in his section. He grabbed her forcefully by the arm, pulling her with him like a wayward child.

"Come on, then, let's get you topside, miss, that's right."

"Wait. Wait! I need your help! There's—"

"No need for panic, miss. Come along!"

"No, let me go! You're going the wrong way!"

But he wasn't listening. And he wouldn't let her go. She shouted in his ear, and when he turned, she punched him squarely in the nose. Shocked, he let her go and staggers back.

"To Hell with you!"

"See you there, asshole!"

The steward ran off, holding his bloody nose, and she spat after him. Just the way Jack taught her. She then turned around and felt herself lighten up slightly when she saw a glass case with a fire-ax in it. She punched the glass uncaring whether she hurt herself, then seized the ax, running back the way she came.

At the stairwell, she looked down and gasped. The water had flooded the bottom five steps. She went down and had to crouch to look along the corridor to the room where Jack was trapped. Avery plunged into the water, which was up to her waist, and powered forward, holding the ax above her head in two hands. She grimaced at the pain from the literally freezing water.

In the Master at Arms office, Jack had climbed up on the bench and was hugging the water pipe. Avery waded in, holding the ax above her head.

"Will this work?"

"We'll find out."

They were both terrified but tried to keep their panic at bay. He positioned the chain connecting the two cuffs, stretching it taut across the steel pipe. The chain was of course very short, and his exposed wrists were on either side of it.

"Try a couple practice swings." She gave him a disbelieving look, but did as told, either way, hefting the ax and thunking it into a wooden cabinet. "Now try to hit the same mark again." She swung hard and the blade thunk in four inches from the mark. "Okay, that's enough practice."

He winced, bracing himself as she raised the ax. She had to hit a target about an inch wide with all the force she could muster, with his hands on either side.

"You can do it, Avery," he said, sounding calm, though really they both knew they were both panicking internally. "Hit it as hard as you can, I trust you." Jack closed his eyes... and so did she. The ax came down—

_K-WHANG!_

Avery, gingerly opening her eyes, looked...

Jack was grinning with two separate cuffs. Avery dropped the ax, all the strength going out of her.

"Nice work, there, Paul Bunyan." He climbed down into the water next to her. He couldn't breathe for a second. "Shit! Excuse my French. Ow ow ow, that is cold! Come on, let's go."

And they waded out into the hall. Avery immediately started toward the stairs, going up, but Jack stopped her. There was only about a foot of the stairwell opening visible.

"Too deep. We gotta find another way out."

Off-board the Titanic, in Boat Six, Ruth looked back at the ship, transfixed by the sight of the dying liner. The bowsprit was now barely above the waterline. Another of Boxhall's rockets exploded overhead.

_K-BOOM!_

It lit up the whole area, and half a dozen boats in the water were visible, spreading out from the ship.

"Now there's somethin' you don't see every day," said Molly.

Aboard the ship, the E-Deck, the widest passageway in the ship, was used by crew and steerage alike and ran almost the length of the ship. At that moment, the steerage passengers moved along it like refugees, heading aft.

_CRASH!_

A wooden door frame splintered and the door burst open under the force of Jack's shoulder. Jack and Avery stumbled through and into the corridor. A steward, who was nearby herding people along, marched over.

"Here you! You'll have to pay for that, you know. That's White Star Line property—"

"Shut up!" the pair of lovers shouted in unison, then Jack led Avery past the dumbfounded steward.

They joined the steerage stragglers going aft. In places, the corridor was almost completely blocked by large families carrying all their luggage. An Irish woman gave Avery a blanket, more for modesty than because she was blue-lipped and shivering.

"Here, lass, cover yerself."

Jack rubbed her arms and tried to warm her up as they walked along.

The woman's husband then offered them a flask of whiskey. "This'll take the chill off."

Avery took a mighty belt, then handed it to Jack. He grinned and followed suit. He then tried a number of doors and iron gates along the way, though each one of them was locked. Avery bit her lip in hesitation when she noticed how mad he was getting as he aggressively tried to pry open the last gate he got his hands on.

"Jack." But he didn't listen. "Jack, Jack— Jack!" She seized him by the shoulders turning him to face her. "Stop. It won't open. Let it go." He was hyperventilating. She grabbed his face between her hands and pulled him down to her, pressing his forehead against his. "We'll find another way, okay? Just calm down."

He stared into her eyes for a moment, trying to calm his even his quick breathing.

"We'll find another way," she repeated softly. "Alright? Do you trust my words?" She paused for a moment, then asked, "Do you trust me?"

Again, his eyes never leaving those piercing blue-green eyes of hers, he stared, taking a moment to grasp for she was saying.

"Do you trust me?" she repeated.

After a few more seconds, he nodded his head slowly, his breath slowly going back to normal. "I trust you," he breathed out. "I trust you with my life."

She gave him a small smile, then pressed her lips to his in a quick tender kiss before pulling away and grasping his hand. "And I you, with mine," she said softly. "We'll find another way," she reassured him, and he nodded in agreement.

"We'll find another way," he echoed.


	13. "You jump, I jump... right?"

Jack looked behind Avery, squinting his eyes slightly as he noticed something ahead, through the crowd. It was Fabrizio, standing with Helga Dahl and her family by a stairwell.

"Fabrizio!" Jack shouted. He grabbed Avery's hand and began to lead her toward his friend. "Fabri!"

Fabrizio turned and grinned in relief upon seeing Jack and Avery pushing through the crowd. As soon as the couple reached him, he and Jack hugged like brothers.

"The boats are all going."

Jack nodded in acknowledgment. "We gotta get up there or we're gonna be gargling saltwater," he said. "Where's Tommy?"

Fabrizio pointed over the heads of the solidly packed crowd to the stairwell. Tommy had his hands on the bars of the steel gate which blocks the head of the stairwell. The crew opened the gate a foot or so and a few women were squeezing through.

"Women only. No men," said the steward at the gate. "No men!!"

But some terrified men, not understanding English, tried to rush through the gap, forcing the gate open. The crewmen and stewards pushed them back, shoving and punching them.

"Get back! Get back you lot!" The steward turned to the crewmen. "Lock it!!"

They struggled to get the gate closed again, while the steward who gave the order to do so brandished a small revolver. Another held a fire ax. They locked the gate, and a cry went up among the crowd, who surge forward, pounding against the steel and shouting in several languages.

"For the love of God, man, there are children down here!" Tommy exclaimed himself. "Let us up, so we can have a chance!"

But the crewmen were scared now. They had let the situation get out of hand, and now they had a mob. Tommy gave up and pushed his way back through the crowd, going down the stairs, where he rejoined Jack, Avery, and Fabrizio.

"It's hopeless that way," he told them.

"Well, whatever we're goin' to do, we better do it fast," Jack said, pulling Avery closer to him.

"Everyone..." he began, making a lot of hand gestures. "All of you... come with me now. We go to the boats. We go to the boats. Capito? Come now!"

They couldn't understand what he's saying, and though they could see his urgency, Oluf Dahl, the patriarch of the family, shook his head. He will not panic, and will not let his family go with this boy.

Fabrizio turned to Helga. "Helga... per favore... please..." Avery felt bad as she watched his desperate attempts to communicate with his new foreign lover. "Come with me, I am lucky. Is my destiny to go to America."

And Helga stepped forward and kissed him, then stepped back to be with her family. Jack laid a hand on his shoulder, his eyes saying "Let's go".

"I will never forget you," was the last thing Fabrizio said to her before he turned to Jack, who led the way out of the crowd, only glancing back to see her face disappear into the crowd.

Jack led the way through the steerage aft, his hand holding Avery's, while Fabrizio and Tommy were right at their heals. However being led, the four of them were lost, searching for a way out. They pushed past confused passengers... past a mother changing her baby's diaper on top of an upturned steamer trunk... past a woman arguing heatedly with a man in Serbo-Croatian, a wailing child next to them... past a man kneeling to console a woman who was just sitting on the floor, sobbing... and past another man with an English/Arabic dictionary, trying to figure out what the signs meant, while his wife and children waited patiently.

Jack then came upon a narrow stairwell and they went up two decks before they were stopped by a small group pressed up against a steel gate. The steerage men were yelling at a scared steward.

"Go to the main stairwell, with everyone else," he told them, his tone shaken with fright. "It'll all get sorted out there."

Jack took one look at this scene and finally just lost it. "God damn it to Hell, son of a bitch!"

Avery watched him with wide eyes as he grabbed one end of a bench bolted to the floor on the landing. He started pulling on it, and Tommy and Fabrizio pitch in until the bolts sheared and it broke free. Avery figured out what they are doing and went ahead to clear a path up the stairs between the waiting people.

"Move aside! Quickly, move aside!"

Jack and Tommy ran up the steps to the bench and rammed it into the gate with all their strength. It ripped loose from its track and fell outward, narrowly missing the steward. Led by Jack, the crowd surged through.

Avery stepped up to the cowering steward and said in her most imperious tone, "If you have any intention of keeping your pathetic job—" She gestured toward the suit he was wearing with a disgusted look on her face. "—with the White Star Line, I suggest you escort these good people to the Boat Deck... now. Class wins out."

He nodded dumbly, then motioned for them to follow.

Aboard the Boat Six, Ruth rowed with Molly Brown, two other women, and the incompetent sailors. She rested on her oars, exhausted, and looked back at the ship. It slanted down into the water, still ablaze with light. Nothing was above water forward of the bridge except for the foremast. Another rocket went off, lighting up the entire area... there were a dozen boats moving outward from the ship.

At the Boat Deck rail, Captain Smith was shouting to Boat Six through a large metal megaphone.

"Come back! Come back to the ship!"

Chief Officer Wilde joined him, blowing his silver whistle. From Boat Six, the whistle came shrilly across the water. Quartermaster Hitchins gripped the rudder in fear.

"The suction will pull us right down if we don't keep going," he said.

Molly rolled her eyes and glared at him. "We got room for lots more. I say we go back."

He gave her a disbelieving look. "No! It's our lives now, not theirs. And I'm in charge of this boat! Now row!!"

On the port, Jack and Avery burst out onto the Boat Deck from the crew stairs just aft of the third funnel and looked at the empty davits.

"The boats are gone!" Avery exclaimed in shock. She saw Colonel Gracie chugging forward along the deck, escorting two first-class ladies. "Colonel! Are there any boats left?"

Gracie turned and stared at her bedraggled state. "Yes, miss... there are still a couple of boats all the way forward. This way, I'll lead you!"

Jack grabbed her hand again, and they sprinted past Gracie, with Tommy and Fabrizio close behind, running by the band, which incredibly was still playing.

"Music to drown by," Tommy muttered in disbelief. "Now I know I'm in First Class."

On the Starboard of the Boat Deck, water was beginning to pour like a spillway over the forward railing on B-Deck. On the Boat Deck, Murdoch and his team were loading Collapsible Car the forward-most davits. The crowd was sparse, with most people still aft. Caledon slipped his hand out of the pocket of his overcoat and into the waist pocket of Murdoch's greatcoat, leaving the stacks of bills there.

"So we have an understanding then?"

Murdoch nodded curtly. "As you've said."

Caledon, satisfied, stepped back, and found himself waiting next to J. Bruce Ismay. Ismay did not meet his eyes, nor anyone's. Lovejoy came up to Caledon at that moment.

"I've found her. She's just over on the port side. With _him_."

"Women and children?" Murdoch called out. "Any more women and children?" He glanced at Caledon. "Anyone else, then?"

Caledon looked longingly at his boat... his moment had arrived.

"God damn it to hell!" he growled. "Come on."

He and Lovejoy headed for the port side, taking a short-cut through the bridge. Ismay, seeing his opportunity, stepped quickly into Collapsible C. He stared straight ahead, not meeting Murdoch's eyes.

"Take them down," said Murdoch, staring at Ismay.

On the port side of the Boat Deck, Lightoller was getting people into Boat Two, keeping his pistol in his hand at this point. Twenty feet below them, the sea was pouring through the doors and windows of B-Deck staterooms. They could hear the roar of water cascading into the ship.

"Women and children, please," Lightoller called out. "Women and children only. Step back, sir."

Even with Jack's arms wrapped around her, Avery was shivering in the cold. Near her, a woman with two young daughters looked into the eyes of a husband she knew she may not see again.

"Goodbye for a little while..." he said to his wife. "Only for a little while." Then he turned to his daughters. "Go with mummy."

The woman stumbled to the boat with the children, hiding her tears from them.

Beneath the false good cheer, the man was choked with emotion. "Hold mummy's hand and be a good girl. That's right."

Some of the women were stoic, others were overwhelmed by emotion and had to be helped into the boats. A man scribbled a note and handed it to a woman who was about to board.

"Please get this to my wife in DeMoines, Iowa," he said.

Jack looked at Tommy and Fabrizio. "You better check out the other side."

They nodded and ran off, searching for a way around the deck-house.

Avery frowned and said stubbornly, "I'm not going without you."

"Get in the boat, Avery," Jack told her.

Caledon walked up just then. "Yes. Get in the boat, _Avery_."

She was shocked to see him and instinctively stepped closer to Jack. Caledon looked at her, standing there shivering in her a wet slip and stockings, a shocking display in 1912. "My God, look at you." He took off his coat. "Here, put this on."

She numbly shrugged into it; he was doing it for modesty, not the cold.

"Quickly, ladies. Step into the boat. Hurry, please!" Lightoller's voice echoed through the noisy night.

"Go on," Jack said softly. "I'll get the next one."

Avery shook her head; something told her there would be no next one. "No. Not without you!" She didn't even care that Caledon was standing right there.

Seeing the emotion between Jack and Avery, Caledon clenched his jaw. But then, he leaned close to her and said in a low voice, "There are boats on the other side that are allowing men in. Jack and I can get off safely. Both of us."

Not looking at the man, Jack stared Avery straight in the eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I'll be alright. Hurry up so we can get going... we got our own boat to catch."

"Get in... hurry up," said Caledon. "It's almost full."

And Lightoller grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the boat. She reached out for Jack and her fingers momentarily brushed his. Then she found herself stepping down into the boat. It was all a rush and blur.

"Lower away!" Lightoller called out.

The two men watched at the rail as the boat began to descend.

"You're a good liar," said Caledon in a low voice.

Not looking away from the woman he'd come to love in such a short time, Jack said, "Almost as good as you."

"I always win, Jack. One way or another." He looked at him and smiled wryly. "Pity I didn't keep that drawing. It's going to be worth a lot more by morning."

Jack knew he was screwed. He looked down at Avery, not wanting to waste a second of his last view of her.

Going down below, Avery watched the ropes going through the pulleys as the seamen started to lower. All sound seemed to just drown away. Lightoller was giving out orders, but she could only see his lips moving. All Avery could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.

This couldn't be happening.

A rocket burst above in slow-motion, outlining Jack in a halo of light. Avery's hair was blowing in slow motion as she numbly gazed up at him, descending away from him. She could see his hand trembling, the tears at the corners of his eyes, and, tears began to pour down her own face. She couldn't believe the unbearable pain she was feeling— she didn't want to feel that unbearable pain she was feeling...

So she impulsively reacted.

She lunged across the women next to her, reached the gunwale, climbed it and hurled herself out of the boat to the rail of the A-Deck promenade, catching it, and scrambling over the rail. The Boat Two continued down...

But Avery was back on the sinking Titanic.

Jack watched her with wide eyes. "No Avery! NOOOO!!"

He spun from the rail, running for the nearest way down to A-Deck. Hockley too had seen her jump, and narrowed his face into the ugliest scowl; she was willing to die for this man, this gutter scum. He was overwhelmed by a rage so all-consuming it eclipsed all thought.

On the First Class main deck, inside by the grand staircase, Jack ran, banging through the doors to the foyer and sprinted down the stairs. He saw her coming into A-deck foyer, running toward him, Caledon's long coat flying out behind her as she ran.

They meet at the bottom of the stairs and collided in an embrace.

"Ave, Avery, you're so stupid, you're such an idiot—" And all the while he spoke, he was kissing her and holding her as tight as he could.

"You jump, I jump... right?" she mumbled, holding onto him for dear life.

Jack stared into her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Right."

Hockley came in and ran to the railing. He looked down and fumed madly when he saw the couple locked in their embrace. Lovejoy came up behind Caledon and puts a restraining hand on him, but Caledon whipped around, grabbing the pistol from Lovejoy's waistband in one cobra-fast move. He ran along the rail and down the stairs. As he reached the landing above them, he raised the gun, then, screaming in rage, he fired.

The carved cherub at the foot of the center railing explodes. Jack pulled Avery toward the stairs, and they ran down to the next deck. Caledon fired again, running down the steps toward them. A bullet blew a divet out of the oak paneling behind Jack's head as he pulled Avery down the next flight of stairs. Hockley stepped on the skittering head of the cherub statue and went sprawling. The gun clattered across the marble floor. He got up, and reeling drunkenly went over to retrieve it.

At the bottom of the grand staircase, the floor was flooded several feet deep. Jack and Avery come down the stairs two at a time and run straight into the water, fording across the room to where the floor sloped up until they reached dry footing at the entrance to the dining saloon.

Caledon reeled down the stairs in time to see Jack and Avery splashing through the water toward the dining saloon. He fired twice, big gouts of spray near them, but he was not a great shot. The water boiled up around his feet and he retreated up the stairs a couple of steps. Around him, the woodward groaned and creaked.

"Enjoy your time together!" he called out to him as Lovejoy arrived next to him. Caledon suddenly remembered something and started to laugh.

"What could possibly be funny?" Lovejoy asked him, throwing him a disbelieving look.

"I put the diamond in my coat pocket. And I put my coat... on her." He turned to Lovejoy with a sickly expression, his eyes glittering. "I give it to you... if you can get it."

He handed Lovejoy the pistol and went back up the stairs. Lovejoy though about it for a moment, then slogged into the water. The ice water was up to his waist as he crossed the pool into the dining saloon.

Lovejoy moved among the tables and ornate columns, searching... listening... his eyes tracking rapidly. It was a sea of tables, and they could be anywhere. A silver serving trolley rolled downhill, bumping into tables and pillars. He glanced behind him. The water was following him into the room, advancing in a hundred foot wide tide. The reception room was now a roiling lake, and the grand staircase was submerged past the first landing. Monstrous groans echoed through the ship. Jack and Avery, crouched behind a table, somewhere in the middle, saw the water advancing toward them, swirling over the floor. They crawled ahead of it to the next row of tables.

"Stay here," Jack whispered.

Jack moved off as Lovejoy moved over one row and looked along the tables. Nothing. The ship groaned and creaked. He moved another row, and jumped slightly, startled as a five feet tall metal cart full of stacks of china dishes rolled down the aisle between tables. Avery's eyes widened as she saw the cart rolling toward her. Much to her slight relief, however, it hit a table and the stacks of dishes toppled out, exploding across the floor and showering her. She quickly scrambled out of the way. However, Lovejoy spotted her when he spun around at the noise. Eyes centered on her, he moved rapidly toward her, keeping the gun aimed. That's when Jack tackled him from the side. They slammed together into a table, crashing over it, and toppling to the floor. They landed in the water which was flowing rapidly between the tables. Jack and Lovejoy grappled in the icy water. Jack jammed his knee down on Lovejoy's hand, breaking his grip on the pistol, and kicked it away. Lovejoy scrambled up and lunged at him, but Jack gut-punched him right in the solar plexus, doubling him over.

"Compliments of the Chippewa Falls Dawsons," Jack breathed out. He grabbed Lovejoy and slammed him into an ornate column. Lovejoy dropped to the floor with a splash, stunned.

"Let's go," said Jack.

He and Avery ran down the aft, uphill, where they entered the galley. Behind them, the tables had become islands in a lake... and the far end of the room was flooded up to the ceiling. Lovejoy got up and looked around for his gun. He pulled it up out of the water and waded after them.

The couple ran through the galley and Avery spotted the stairs. She started up and Jack grabbed her hand, leading her down once again. They crouched together on the landing as Lovejoy ran to the stairs. Assuming they had gone up (who wouldn't?), he climbed up the stairs, two at a time. They waited for the footstep to recede— a long creaking groan— then they heard it... a crying child. Below them. They went down a few steps to look along the next deck.

The corridor was awash, about a foot deep. Standing against the wall, about feet away, was a little boy, about three years of age. The water swirled around his legs and he was wailing.

"We can't leave him," Avery said.

Jack nodded and they left the promise of escape up the stairwell to run to the child. Jack scooped up the kid and they ran back to the stairs, but a torrent of water came pouring down the stairs like rapids. In seconds, it was too powerful for them to go against.

"Come on," Jack urged.

Charging the other way down the flooding corridor, they blasted up spray with each footstep. At the end of the hall were heavy double doors. As Jack approached them, he saw water spraying through the gap between the doors right up to the ceiling. The doors groaned and start to crack under the tons of pressure.

"Back! Go back!!"

Aver pivoted and ran back the way they came, taking a turn into a cross-corridor. A man was coming the other way. He saw the boy in Jack's arms and cried out, grabbing him away from Jack. Starts cursing him in Russian. He ran on with the boy.

"No! Not that way!" Avery called after them. "Come back!"

At that moment, the double doors blasted open. A wall of water thundered into the corridor. The father and child disappeared instantly, while Jack and Avery ran as a wave blasted around the corner, foaming from floor to ceiling. It gained on them like a locomotive. They made it to a stairway going up and pounded up the steps as white water swirled up behind them. A steel gate blocked the top of the stairs, so Jack slammed against the fate, gripping the bars. A terrified steward standing guarded on the landing above turned to run at the sight of the water thundering up the stairs.

"Wait! Wait! Help us! Unlock the gate," Jack called after him.

But the steward ran on.

The water welled up around Jack and Avery, pouring through the gate and slamming them against it. In seconds, it was up to their waist.

"Help us! Please!" Avery pleaded. The steward stopped and looked back. He saw Jack and Avery at the gate, their arms reaching through... saw the water pouring through the gate onto the landing.

"Fucking 'ell!" He ran back, slogging against the current. He pulled a key ring from his belt and struggled to unlock the padlock as the water fountained up around them. The lights shorted out and the landing was plunged into darkness. The water rose over the lock and he was doing it by feel.

"Come on! Come on!" the third class young man urged him.

Jack and Avery were right up against the ceiling... Suddenly the gate gave and swung open. They were pushing through by the force of the water. They made it to stairs on the other side of the landing and followed the steward up to the next deck, running up the seemingly endless stairs as the ship groaned and torgued around them.

In the First Class smoke room, Thomas Andrews stood in front of the fireplace, staring at the large painting above the mantle. The fire was surprisingly still going in the fireplace. The room was empty except for Andrews. An ashtray fell off the table just as, behind him, Jack and Avery ran into the room, out of breath and soaked. They ran through, toward the aft revolving door... then Avery recognized him. She saw that his lifebelt was off, lying on a table.

"Won't you even make a try for it, Mr. Andrews?" she asked him.

Andrew looked at her, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'm sorry that I didn't build you a stronger ship, young Rose."

Avery shook her head. "I got to be on the Ship of Dreams, and it was thanks to you," she told him, offering him a small smile.

Jack felt back for the man, but, if he wasn't going to leave... well, Jack and Avery were not exactly going to stay. "It's going fast..." he told her. "We've got to keep moving."

Then Andrews picked up his lifebelt and handed it to her. "Good luck to you, Rose." Avery looked at him for a quick moment, so many emotions rushing through her eyes. She then took a step forward and hugged him tightly.

"And to you, Mr. Andrews."

Then Jack pulled her away, and they ran through the revolving door.

Out on the Boat Deck, the band finished the waltz. Wallace Hartley looks at the orchestra members. He nodded at the members, and then, they left him, walking forward along the deck. Hartley put his violin to his chin and bowed the first notes of "Nearer My God to Thee". One by one the band members turned, hearing the lonely melody. Without a word they walked back and took their places. They joined in with Hartley, filling out the sound so that it reached all over the ship on this still night.

The vocalist began, " _If in my dreams I be, nearer my God to thee..._ "

The hymn played over the following sequence:

A seaman pulled off his lifebelt and caught up with Captain Smith as he walked to the bridge. He offered it, but Smith seemed to stare through him. Without a word, he turned and went onto the bridge. He entered the enclosed wheelhouse and closed the door. He was alone, surrounded by the gleaming brass instruments; he seemed to inwardly collapse.

In the First Class smoking room, Andrews stood like a statue. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Then he opened the face of the mantle clock and adjusted it to the correct time.

_2:12 a.m._

Everything must be correct.

In Caledon's parlor suite, water swirled in from the private promenade deck. Avery's paintings were submerged. The Picasso transformed under the water's surface. Degas' colors ran. Monet's water lilies came to life.

Two figures laid side by side, fully clothed, on a bed in a First Class cabin. Elderly Ida and Isador Strauss stared at the ceiling, holding hands like young lovers. Water poured into the room through a doorway, swirling around the bed, two feet deep rising fast.

In a steerage cabin, somewhere in the bowels of the ship, the young Irish mother, who'd been stoically waiting at the stairs beside Tommy, was tucking her two young children into bed. She pulled up the covers, making sure they were all warm and cozy. She laid down with them on the bed, speaking soothingly and holding them.

A wave traveled up the boat deck as the bridge house sank into the water. On the port side, Collapsible B was picked up by water. Working frantically, the men tried to detach it from the falls so the ship wouldn't drag it under. Colonel Gracie handed Lightoller a pocket knife and he sawed furiously at the ropes as the water swirled around his legs. The boat, still upside down, was swept off the ship. Men start diving in, swimming to stay with it.

In Collapsible A, Caledon sits next to a wailing child, whom he had completely forgotten. He watched the water rising around the men as they worked, scrambling to get the ropes cut so the ship wouldn't drag the collapsible under. Fabrizio removed the lifebelt from Tommy's limp body and struggled to put it on as the water rose around him. Captain Smith, standing near the wheel, watched the black water climbing the windows of the enclosed wheelhouse. He had the stricken expression of a damned soul on Judgment Day. The windows burst suddenly and a wall of water edged with shards of glass slammed into him.

He disappeared in a vortex of foam.

Collapsible A was hit by a wave as the bow plunged suddenly. It partially swamped the boat, washing it along the deck. Over a hundred passengers were plunged into the freezing water and the area around the boat became a frenzy of splashing, screaming people.

As men were trying to climb into the collapsible, Caledon grabbed an oar and pushed them back into the water. "Get back! You'll swamp us!"

Fabrizio, swimming for his life, got swirled under a davit. The ropes and pulleys tangled around him as the davit went under the water, and he was dragged down. Underwater he struggled to free himself, and then kicked back to the surface. He surfaced, gasping for air in the freezing water. Wallace Hartley saw the water rolling rapidly up the deck toward them. He held the last note of the hymn in a sustain, and then lowered his violin.

"Gentlemen, it has been a privilege playing with you tonight."

On the port side of the A-Deck aft, Jack and Avery ran out of the palm court into a dense crowd. Jack pushed his way to the rail and looked at the state of the ship. The bridge was underwater and there was chaos on deck. Jack helped her put her lifebelt on. People streamed around them, shouting and pushing.

"Okay... we keep moving aft," he said. "We have to stay on the ship as long as possible."

They pushed their way aft through the panicking crowd and clambered over the A-Deck aft rail. Then, using all his strength, he lowered her toward the deck below, holding on with one hand. She dangled, then fell, Jack jumping down behind her. They joined a crush of people literally clawing and scrambling over each other to get down the narrow stairs to the well-deck... the only way aft. Seeing that the stairs were impossible, Jack climbed over the B-Deck railing and helped Avery over. He lowered her again, and she felt in a heap. Baker Joughin, now three sheets to the wind, happened to be next to her. He hauled Avery to her feet just as Jack dropped down. Then, the three of them pushed through the crowd across the well-deck. Near them, at the rail, people were jumping into the water as the ship groaned and shuddered. The man ahead of Jack was walking like a zombie.

"Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death--"

"You wanna walk a little faster through that valley, fella?" Jack growled, but Avery quickly pulled him ahead before he could do anything reckless.

Below decks, the flooding was horrific. Walls and doors were splintered like kindling; water roared down corridors with pile-driver force; the Cartmell family was at the top of a stairwell, jammed against a locked gate like Jack and Avery were. Water boiled up the stairwell behind them; Bert Cartmell shook the gate futilely, shouting for help. Little Cora wailed as the water boiled up around them all.

Out on the stern, Avery and Jack struggled to climb the well-deck stairs as the ship tilted. Drunk, Baker Joughin put a hand squarely on Avery's butt and shoved her up onto the deck.

"Sorry, miss!"

Hundreds of people were already on the 'poop deck', and more were pouring up every second. Jack and Avery clung together as they struggled across the tilting deck. As the bow went down, the stern rose. People jumped from the well-deck, the poop deck, the gangway doors. Some hit debris in the water and were hurt or killed.

On the poop deck, Jack and Avery struggled aft as the angle increased. Hundreds of passengers, clinging to every fixed object on deck, huddled on their knees around Father Byles, who had his voice raised in prayer. They were praying, sobbing, or just staring at nothing, their minds blank with dread. Pulling himself from handhold to handhold, Jack tugged Aver aft along the deck.

"Come on, Ave. We can't expect God to do all the work for us."

They struggled on, pushing through the praying people. A man lost his footing ahead and slid toward them. Jack helped him. The propellers were twenty feet above the water and rising faster. Jack and Avery made it to the stern rail, right at the base of the flagpole. They gripped the rail, jammed in between other people.

It was the spot where Jack pulled her back onto the ship, just two nights... and a lifetime... ago.

Above the wailing and sobbing, Father Byles' voice carried, cracking with emotion.

"...and I saw new heavens and a new earth. The former heavens and the former earth had passed away and the sea was no longer."

The lights flickered, threatening to go out. Avery gripped Jack as the stern rose into a night sky ablaze with stars.

"I also saw a new Jerusalem, the holy city coming down out of heaven from God, beautiful as a bride prepared to meet her husband. I heard a loud voice from the throne ring out this is God's dwelling among men. He shall dwell with them and they shall be his people and He shall be their God who is always with them."

Avery stared around her at the faces of the doomed. Near them were the Dahl family, clinging together stoically. Helga looked at her briefly, and her eyes were infinitely sad. Avery saw a young mother next to her, clutching her five-year-old son, who was crying in terror.

"Shhh. Don't cry. It'll be over soon, darling. It'll all be over soon."

Father Byles carried on. "He shall wipe every tear from their eyes. And there shall be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain, for the former world has passed away."

The stern aft of the ship, almost four hundred feet long, fell back toward the water. On the poop deck, everyone screamed as they felt themselves plummeting. The sound went up like the roar of fans at a baseball stadium when a run is scored. Swimming in the water directly under the stern, a few unfortunates shrieked as they saw the keel coming down on them like God's bootheel. The massive stern section fell back almost level, thundering down into the sea and pushing out a mighty wave of displaced water. Jack and Avery struggle to hold onto the stern rail. They felt the ship seemingly right itself. Some of those praying though it is salvation.

"We're saved!"

Jack looked at Avery and shook his head, grimly. Now the horrible mechanics played out. Pulled down by the awesome weight of the flooded bow, the buoyant stern tilted up rapidly. They felt the rush of ascent as the fantail angled up again. Everyone was clinging to benches, railings, ventilators... anything to keep from sliding as the stern lifted.

The stern went up and up, past forty-five degrees, then past sixty. People started to fall, sliding and tumbling. They skidded down the deck, screaming and flailing to grab onto something. They wrenched other people loose and pulled them down as well. There was a pile-up of bodies at the forward rail. The Dahl family fell one by one.

"We have to move!" Jack shouted. He climbed over the stern rail and reached back for Avery. She was terrified to move. He grabbed her hand. "Come on! I've got you!" And he pulled her over the rail...

It was the same place he pulled her over the rail two nights earlier, going the other direction.

She got over just as the railing was going horizontal, and the deck vertical. Jack gripped her fiercely. The stern was now straight up in the air... a rumbling black monolith standing against the stars. It hung there like that for a long grace note, its buoyancy stable. Avery laid on the railing, looking down fifteen stories to the boiling sea at the base of the stern section. People near them, who didn't climb over, hung from the railing, their legs dangling over the long drop. They fell one by one, plummeting down the vertical face of the poop deck. Some of them bounced horribly off deck benches and ventilators.

Jack and Avery laid side by side on what was the vertical face of the hull, gripping the railing, which was now horizontal. Just beneath their feet were the gold letters TITANIC emblazoned across the stern. Avery stared down terrified at the black ocean waiting below to claim them. Jack looked to his left and saw Baker Joughin, crouching on the hull, holding onto the railing.

It was a surreal moment.

Nodding a greeting, Joughin said, "Helluva night."

And the final relentless plunge began as the stern section floods. Looking down a hundred feet to the water, Jack and Avery prepared themselves to drop.

"Take a deep breath and hold it right before we go into the water," Jack said quickly. "The ship will suck us down. Kick for the surface and keep kicking. Don't let go of my hand. We're gonna make it, Ave. Trust me."

She stared at the water coming up at them and gripped his hand harder. "I trust you."

And they let go.

Below them, the poop deck was disappearing. The plunge gathered speed... the boiling surface engulfed the docking bridge and then rushed up the last thirty feet. The name TITANIC disappeared, and the tiny figured of Jack and Avery vanish under the water.

Where the ship stood, now there was nothing. Only the black ocean.

The Ship of Dreams was gone.


	14. I promised...

Bodies whirled and spun underwater, some limp as dolls, others struggling spasmodically, as the vortex sucked them down and tumbled them.

Jack rose, kicking hard for the surface, holding tightly to Avery, pulling her up. At the surface, there was a roiling chaos of screaming, thrashing people. Over a thousand people were now floating where the ship went down. Some were stunned, gasping for breath. Others were crying, praying, moaning, shouting, screaming. Jack and Avery surfaced among them. They barely had time to gasp for air before people were clawing at them. People driven insane by the water, four degrees below freezing; a cold so intense it was indistinguishable from death by fire.

A man pushed Avery under, trying to climb on top of her— senselessly trying to get out of the water, to climb onto anything. Jack punched him repeatedly, pulling her free.

"Swim, Avery! SWIM!"

She tried, but her strokes were not as effective as his because of her life-jacket. They broke out of the clot of people. He had to find some kind of flotation, anything to get her out of the freezing water.

"Keep swimming. Keep moving," he encouraged. "Come on, you can do it."

All around them there was a tremendous wailing, screaming and moaning... a chorus of tormented souls. And beyond that... nothing but black water stretching to the horizon. The sense of isolation and hopelessness was overwhelming.

Jack stroke rhythmically, the effort keeping him from freezing.

"Look for something floating. Some debris... wood... anything."

"It's so cold," Avery mumbled numbly.

"I know. I know. Help me, here. Look around."

His words kept her focused, taking her mind off the wailing around them. Avery scanned the water, panting, barely able to draw a breath. She turned and... screamed: a devil was right in from of her face. Well... really, it was a black french bulldog, swimming right at her like a sea monster in the darkness, its coal eyes bugging. It motored past her like it was headed for Newfoundland. Beyond it, Avery saw something in the water.

"What's that?" she said.

Jack saw what she was pointing to, and they made for it together. It was a piece of wooden debris, intricately carved. He pushed her up and she slithered onto it, belly down. But when Jack tried to get up onto the thing, it tilted and submerged, almost dumping Avery off. It was clearly only big enough to support her. He clung to it, close to her, keeping his upper body out of the water as best he could. Their breath floated around them in a cloud as they panted from exertion. A man swam toward them, homing in on the piece of debris.

Jack warned him back. "It's just enough for this lady... you'll push it under."

"Let me try at least, or I'll die soon."

"You'll die quicker if you come any closer."

"Yes, I see. Good luck to you then." And he swam away. "God bless."

And the couple was left to float amid a chorus of the damned. Jack saw the ship's officer nearby, Chief Officer Wilde. He was blowing his whistle furiously, knowing the sound will carry over the water for miles.

"The boats will come back for us, Avery," Jack told her. "Hold on just a little longer. They had to row away for the suction and now they'll be coming back."

She nodded stiffly, his words helping her. She was shivering uncontrollably, her lips blue and her teeth chattering, but so were his.

"Jack... take my life-vest," she said softly.

He shook his head stiffly. "It's fine— I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Jack. Please... just... you're not on this me with... at least take it..."

"Avery, it's fine. You need it more than me," he reassured her.

She looked at him with tired, watery eyes. "Thank God for you, Jack," she mumbled.

People were still screaming, calling to the lifeboats.

"Come back! Please!" a woman shouted. "We know you can hear us. For God's sake!"

Then a man. "Please... help us. Save one life! SAVE ONE LIFE!"

Aboard the Boat Six, Ruth had her ears covered against the wailing in the darkness. The first class women in the boat sat, stunned, listening to the sounds of hundreds screaming.

"They'll pull us right down I tell ya!" Hitchins exclaimed.

Molly glared. "Aw, knock it off, yer scarin' me. Come on girls, grab your oars. Let's go." Nobody moved. "Well, come on!"

The women wouldn't meet her eyes. They huddled into their ermine wraps.

"I don't understand any one of you. What's the matter with you? It's your men back there! We got plenty a' room for more."

"If you don't shut that hole in yer face, there'll be one less in this boat!" said Hitchins.

Ruth kept her ears covered and her eyes closed, shutting it all out.

Lakes away, Jack and Avery drifted under the blazing stars. The water was glassy, with only the faintest undulating swell. Avery could actually see the stars reflecting on the black mirror of the sea. Jack squeezed the water out of her long coat, tucking it in tightly around her legs. He rubbed her arms. His face was chalk within the darkness. A low moaning in the darkness around them.

"It's getting quiet," Avery mumbled.

"Just a few more minutes," Jack said softly. "It'll take them a while to get the boats organized..."

Avery was unmoving, just staring into space. She knew the truth. There won't be any boats. Behind Jack, she saw that Officer Wilde had stopped moving. He was slumped in his life-jacket, looking almost asleep. He had died of exposure already.

"I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this," Jack muttered.

She laughed weakly, but it sounded like a gasp of fear. Avery found his eyes in the dim light.

"I love you, Avery," he blurted out in a whisper.

"I love you, Jack," she whispered back.

And her heart ached unlike ever before. This was the first time she said it to anyone— she hadn't even told her brother, whom she'd been with for a little over a year. Not only that, but this was the first time she was afraid of dying— she finally had something she'd leave behind if she did, but... if she didn't, she would be losing something either way. More than one thing.

Brock, Jack...

It was but _three_ people she now cared deeply about, but it was something to her. Something big. Something she would lose either way, whether she died or not because she still didn't know if she would go back to her time.

Jack saw the resolve in her saddened eyes. He took her hand and stiffly shook his head. "Don't... not now... don't say your goodbyes, Avery. Don't you give up just yet. Don't do it."

"I'm so cold," she whispered.

"You're going to get out of this... you're going to go on and you're going to make babies and watch them grow and you're going to die an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Do you understand me?"

"I can't feel my body..."

"Avery, listen to me," Jack croaked. "Listen. Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me." Jack was having trouble getting the breath to speak. "It brought me to you. And I'm thankful, Avery. I'm thankful." His voice was trembling with the cold which was working its way to his heart, but his eyes were unwavering. "You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... no matter what happens... no matter how hopeless... promise me now, and never let go of that promise."

Avery held his gaze for as long as she could. "I promise," she whispered.

"Never let go."

"I promise," she croaked. " _I will never let go_ , Jack. I'll never let go." She gripped his hand and they laid with their heads together.

It was quiet now, except for the lapping of the water.

Time went by. Seconds. Minutes. Probably hours, no one knew. All any survivor from the shipwreck knew was that the waiting felt like forever.

Jack and Avery still floated in the black water. The stars reflected in the mill pond surface and the two of them seemed to be floating in interstellar space. They were absolutely still. Their hands were locked together. Avery was staring upwards at the canopy of stars wheeling above her. She could hear music, though she knew nothing was there to play it. It, too, however, was transparent, floating... as the long sleep sealed over her, and she felt peace.

She was pale. Pale, like the faces of the dead. She seemed to be floating in a void; Avery was in a semi-hallucinatory state. She knew she was dying. Her lips barely moved as she sang a scrap of Jack's song.

" _Come Josephine in my flying machine..._ "

Her eyes were locked upon the stars. They were beautiful— as beautiful as they had been the night she stood out on the deck with Jack and they saw a shooting star. She really had wished for something she couldn't have. Her wish had come true, and though it was leaving almost as soon as it came— it had come true. And though she was sad that she was dying— that Jack was probably on his way too, she couldn't help but look up at the stars in contentment.

Up at the beautiful stars that shone more beautifully than anyone had ever seen. Maybe it was just her. Maybe it was just her dying mind that wanted to die with a beautiful view. She had once thought the most beautiful thing was the sunset, but this— the Milky Way was a glorious band from horizon to horizon.

Suddenly, a shooting star flared... a line of light across the heavens. Avery blinked painfully; her hair was dusted with frost crystals. Her breathing was so shallow, she was almost motionless. Her eyes tracked down from the stars to the water, and she saw it.

The silhouette of a boat crossing the stars.

She saw men in it, rowing so slowly the oars lifted out of the syrupy water, leaving weightless pearls floating in the air. The voices of the men sounded slow and distorted. Then the lookout flashed his torch toward her and the light flared across the water, silhouetting the bobbing corpses in between. It flicked past her motionless form and moved on. The boat was fifty feet away, and moving past her. The men looked away. Avery lifted her head to turn to Jack, almost getting stuck in place as her hair had frozen to the wood under her.

"Jack," she croaked. She reached out, wincing as her frozen limbs stretched, and touched his shoulder with her free hand. He didn't respond. Avery gently turned his face toward her. It was rimed with frost. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

But he was not asleep.

Avery could only stare at his still face as the realization went through her.

"Oh, Jack."

All hope, will, and spirit left her. She looked at the boat. It was further away now, the voices fainter. Avery watched them go. She closed her eyes. She was so weak, and there just seemed to be no reason to even try. And then... her eyes snapped open. She raised her head suddenly, cracking the ice as she ripped her hair off the wood. She called out, but her voice was so weak they didn't hear her. The boat was invisible now, the torchlight a star impossibly far away. She struggled to draw breath, calling again, but her voice got caught in her throat. She could barely breathe anymore.

She didn't want to give up. She couldn't. She—

"I... p... prom—" She swallowed hard, shutting her eyes in pain. "I promised..." she mumbled to herself, though her voice came out barely audible to even herself.

She promised... but she couldn't hold on any longer. Whether she liked it or not, it wasn't her frozen fingers that were going to keep holding on for dear life. Not anymore. It was her heart. And at that moment, she could feel it...

It was letting go.

A gentle breeze blew freezing powder across her face, and she sucked in a sharp breath through clenched white teeth. The North Atlantic frost settled on her eyelashes, and she focused on it, the sky blurring now as she tried to pick out the minute framework of the individual flakes. They were too small. They hardened now and gathered onto her cheeks as she stiffly blinked.

Her weakening heartbeat thundered in her blued ears, the voices were coming closer, but she made no sign to alert them anymore. As Jack's hand was locked in hers, frozen, she too was frozen in her position. She couldn't even move her head anymore. Apart from the faint approaching voices, it was airy quiet around her that the inaudible, invisible ocean breeze became a hurricane wind, shrieking through her ears, moving the frozen floating cadavers along the water, drowning others that were already frozen dead. It occurred to her now that this was also her grave; freezing ocean, insulated from the heat of a hidden sun by so many layers of isolation— the white veil of cloud, the thin sheen of clothes frozen and icily cradling her body, pinning it to the floating wood.

She began to feel slow, rhythmic waves moving, wadding the water around her and her frozen lover. They felt distant at first, but they were advancing. In a moment of crystal clarity, she realized she really was dying. She was terrified, but her cooled body was reluctant to feel the fear with her. Adrenaline tried to shoot through the hardening tunnels of her veins and failed.

She began thinking of all the things she’ll never do again— banal, stupid things she hadn't thought of doing at the time she acted impulsively rather than pensively. At the time she'd been reckless. She thought of the achievements— goals she would never reach like becoming a writer, an actress or a singer. She tried to weep, and the tears froze on her face. The air wouldn’t let her pity herself. The waves were stronger now; her body quaked to their echo. She closed her eyes and tried to comprehend her end.

She was on her accustomed natural habitat. Water. Every time she'd think of ending things herself, she would head where there was water. She would head for a bridge. Docks. Anywhere she could find deep water. Now she understood.

_She was Rose._

As crazy and inexplicable as it seemed, she was the old lady she met aboard the Kedysh. She had met herself.

She'd never been one to believe in magic or to deeply believe in God or his power, but now she did. She drew a wondrous man she'd never met or known on her way to an expedition. She fell off a ship and into another time and place— decades before the time she grew up in. She lived a fairytale love— forbidden love she found within _three_ days. And now she was here. _She was Rose_. But it wasn't Rose who Jack had fallen for this time. It wasn't Rose who was letting go. No. Now she was Avery, not Rose. Not _Rosalinda_ DeWitt Bukater. She wasn't that strong woman who managed to live on with her life. She was Avery _Rosalinda_ Lovett— a girl who'd been an orphan her entire life. A girl who had gained her smarts and her strength mostly out on the streets. A girl who had tried to end her life so many times... but always ended up finding that something that pushed her forward, that made her go on. She was a survivor, but only in her time.

Her time.

She _had to_ let go.

It wouldn't really be letting go, but she promised. And she was a girl who kept her promises.

Her time was up.

In the boat up ahead, Lowe, who had heard her previous call, pointed in her direction. Avery could see them from the corner of her eye, but could only mentally shake her head. That wasn't the way.

Avery struggled to move. Her hand, she remembered, was still frozen to Jack's. She breathed on it, melting the ice a little, and gently unclasped their hands, breaking away a thin tinkling film. However, she did not let go of him.

"I won't let go," she croaked. "I promise." She rolled off the piece of debris she was laying on but didn't let go

Taking one last glance at the North Atlantic ocean of 1912— of the perished ship she'd gone to study with her brother years from then— she held onto Jack's hand with the bit of force left in her, then relinquished her hold on the wooden debris, letting the black water take her down with Jack by her side.

_I promised..._

It's sad to say that in that moment of her death, she finally understood life. However, all thoughts about life left her mind as she plunged deeper into the _feeling-less_ abyss of freezing black water.

Ironically, it _felt_ like the usual calm waves were fighting over her as all the air left her lungs and was replaced by water. Cold, salty water. _Then_... nothing.

However, feeling soon came back to her.

Oh, how disorienting it was.

She'd remembered she was sinking. She remembered her heart slowing down, nearing its end; it was like it suddenly took a jump start as feeling returned all around her. The current wouldn't let up. It was slamming her against more rocks; they beat against the center of her back sharply, rhythmically, pushing the water from her lungs. It gushed out in amazing volume, absolute torrents pouring from her mouth and nose. The salt burned her lungs, and her throat was too full of water to catch a breath and the rocks, or whatever it is she was feeling, were hurting her back.

It wasn't a surprise to her that she stayed in one place, though the fact that she felt waves heaving around her only confused her. Confusion... huh. She was thinking again. However, she couldn't see anything but she still felt water everywhere, reaching for her face.

"Breathe!" a voice, wild with anxiety, ordered, and she felt a cruel stab of pain when she could yet couldn’t recognize the voice.

She could not obey. The waterfall pouring from her mouth didn't stop long enough for her to catch a breath. The black, icy water filled her chest, burning.

The rock smacked into her back again, right between her shoulder blades, and another volley of water choked its way out of her lungs.

The voice kept on begging. "Breathe, Roe! Come on!"

 _Roe?_  No one but Brock called her that, and even when he did, it was only rarely. Could it be that she...? No. She was dying. Her time had been up. She was drowning deeper into the freezing water with Jack by her side. She remembered that. She remembered holding on and letting go... but, then why did a part of her seemed to understand what most of her was currently confused about?

Black spots bloomed across her vision, getting wider and wider, blocking out the light.

The rock struck her again.

The rock wasn't cold like the water; it was hot on her skin. She then realized it was a hand, trying to beat the water from her lungs. Her head whirled, the black spots covered everything...

Was she dead, then? If this was what death felt like, she didn't like it. It was only dark now, nothing worth looking at there. The sound of the crashing waves faded into the black and became a quiet, even whoosh that sounded like it was coming from the inside of her ears...

"Roe?" the voice— a man’s voice asked, still tense, but not as wild as before. "Roe— Avery, can you hear me?"

The contents of her head swished and rolled sickeningly like they'd joined the rough water.

"How long has she been unconscious?" someone else asked.

The voice shocked her, jarred her into a more focused awareness.

Avery realized that she was still. There was no tug of the current on her— the heaving was inside her head. The surface under her was flat and motionless. It felt grainy against her bare arms.

"I don't know," the man reported, still frantic. His voice was very close. Hands— so warm yet so cold— brushed the wet hair from her cheeks. "It must've been real long. Did you find Rose?"

"No. Dude— man, it's like she just disappeared into thin air or somethin'. We checked the whole ship— she's nowhere and Lizzy's panicking. What if she fell too?"

Avery was confused. Rose? Fell too? _She_ fell off a  _ship_! Well... she and Jack dropped off it. She remembered that... the ship was sinking... She could feel her brows furrow slightly as the current confusion jumbled her mind _._

_What was going on?_

"Roe? Can you hear me?" the man asked again, softly.

"Avery Rosalinda Lovett," the other voice sang. "You can open your eyes now... seriously, kid, just open them!" It pleaded.

Wait...

Holly shit!

Within less than a second later, Avery coughed the rest of the water out of her lungs before moaning and groaning in slight pain and coldness. Her blue-green eyes fluttered, only to meet two familiar faces.

"Jack," she blurted out.

The two men before her frowned in confusion. "What?"

But Avery practically shoved them aside. She was back in her world— in her time. And she knew that whoever she told so would probably think she had just been dreaming. But she hadn't, and the fact that she was still wearing the ripped 'one-piece garments that cover the body and extend down over the legs', and Caledon's blazer only proved that none of it had been a dream.

She had really fallen in the Ship of Dreams. She had really met the man she drew before going boarding the Kedysh with her brother for his expedition. She had really lost her virtue to that man she fell in love with, ran from the one who went insane with his possessiveness over her all while the ship was sinking.

She had really survived the demise of the biggest ship of all time.

But she was with Jack. She had become a survivor because of him. Because he was a survivor too.

_See, my folks died in a fire when I was fifteen, and I've been on the road since. Somethin' like that teaches you to take life as it comes at you..._

He was a survivor and she wouldn't have been one as well if it hadn't been for him. But then...

Where was he? They'd been holding hands when she let go. They _died_ together. Shouldn't they be together now?

She heard her name being called out and felt large hands grabbing her by her arms, shaking her slightly to get her attention.

"What?" Avery snapped her attention toward the man in front of her.

Suddenly, the reminder of where she'd returned came back to her as she looked into that pair of warm blue eyes that stared back at her with worry. It was Brock. She was back. Avery blinked her wide eyes, clutching the defrosting piece of clothing clinging to her chest; she felt nauseous.

"She must have hit her head when she fell,” said a man she recognized as Bodine.

"I fell..." Though it had been but a mumble, it had been loud enough for both men to hear and be surprised; her usually soft and smooth voice was cracked and raspy as though it was an invisible piece of breaking ice.

"Hey! Ave, you okay?"

She would've shaken her head, but her limbs were still stiffened in place from the cold she'd been previously engulfed with. "No— I fe— Jack— Caledon— shot us— Lovejoy..."

"What?" Brock was confused by his sister's aimless rambling. "Avery, what are you talking about?"

"Love who?" Bodine blurted out, but he immediately shut himself up when he noticed the glare Brock was sending his way.

"It sank..." Her blue-green eyes had become glazed over and distant and had taken on a grayer tint, making them look almost cloudy. "So... cold... frozen... screams..."

"Boss... I think she's gonna need a shrink."

Before Brock could reply, however, Avery snapped. "I don't need a psychiatrist!"

"Then tell me what's wrong, Avery!" Brock sighed. "What has gotten into you?"

"I’m freaking out! Isn’t that obvious?!" Avery exclaimed. "And stop calling me Avery— wait! That is my name— but they— Rose— called me— dammit!"

"Avery, watch your language," Brock scolded her.

Avery sent him a deathly glare. "You're kidding me, right? Who do you think you are? My father?"

He sighed, running a hand down his face. "No, I'm your brother. And I'm concerned."

"Well, don't be," she grumbled, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Avery—"

"Just don't. Even if I told you what's wrong, you wouldn't believe me— I'd be _wasting_ my breath," she snapped.

It might've been harsh, but... who can blame her? She just fell overboard, off a ship, only to end up near a bridge she didn't know, with people she didn't know, one of them claiming to be her mother, another her fiancé. Then she found out she was decades before her own time, when the Titanic was to first sail, only to fall victim of the shipwreck along with many other unfortunate souls and a young man she fell in love with within three days who was nowhere to be found albeit having drowned frozen with her.

Can't really expect her to say: "Hey, brother! I missed you so much!"

She did. She really had missed him, but right now she couldn't care any less about that.

"Rose..."

Avery blinked repeatedly as she felt herself suddenly go lightheaded.

"Rose, are you alright?"

She wanted to snap. She wanted to punch something, yell at them and nothing, but she couldn't. Nothing made sense to her anymore.

First, the portrayal she drew of a young man she knew she never met yet found somewhat familiar. Then, Rose, a hundred-year-old woman, comes aboard the Kedysh, claiming she was the girl in a picture drawn over eighty years ago.

Then, after barely exchanging a few phrases with the old lady who, for some unknown reason, shares the same strange eye color she's always had, she falls off the ship, feels like she's dying, only to be woken up by a man she does not know, another she does not know either, and a woman who looks like an older version of her self— though a slight less prettier and looks to be in her fifties— claims to be her mother, someone Avery never knew as she had grown up as an unwanted orphan.

After that, she finds herself— well, Rose— to be engaged to the man— Caledon, who was a complete jackass, and, not long after, boarding, along with her 'mother', the 'unsinkable ship' which she knew was about to sink in a few days time. Then she went on and fell in love with the man she drew, had sex with him in a Renault, only to have to run with him, a few hours later, trying to find a way to survive after merely escaping two psychos.

She told him. She told him everything, from the moment she drew Jack's portrait, to the moment she got out of the sinking Titanic in 1912. Then she cried, not only because of her loss but also because of the look Brock gave her. A look that said so many things, yet only two things at the same time.

_You've lost your mind._

_I don't believe you._

But she didn't care anymore. All she cared about was the fact that she had lost Jack. She had lost what had become her reason for living within three days. She promised she wouldn't let go, but she did, and not she was back. Without him.

"I promised..." she cried out. And that was all she could do.

Cry.

Cry about the first promise she ever broke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next month, on the fifth of April, she turned eighteen. A month later, she graduated from high-school. Fresh out of college, Anna decided to mature and to use her full name anew, becoming once again Paulianna Simmons. She moved out of her father's place as he was quite an alcoholic whom she couldn't bare living with for another second and moved in with Avery and Brock. Taking up an interest on becoming a treasure hunter, Paulianna joined Brock in his expeditions, though her wish in having her best friend with her on that journey was unfortunately crushed when Avery left two weeks past New Year of 1997, going off on her own.

For almost two years after she left, neither Paulianna nor Brock heard anything from her, until they received a letter, on the twenty-eighth of March, 1999, along with a package. They were both aboard the Kydesh, still seeking to find the Heart of the Ocean. He had never lost hope.

Brock and Paulianna had been standing outside, watching the techies fishing for more artifacts. He'd been propped against a scrubber, relaxing slightly, though feeling a bit tense in anticipation when one of his men brought him the mail delivered through a helicopter that had landed on the larger deck. The moment he saw the letter and package dedicated to him, and whom it had come from, he was suddenly in a hurry to read it.

"Hey, Anna?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you keep an eye on the boys? I got something I gotta... something I gotta check out."

"Sure, take your time boss."

He ran into the preservation room, sat at the table and practically ripped the letter open.

_Dear brother,_

_Three years ago, I followed you on an expedition in_ _the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean. I fell overboard, off the Kydesh, and landed on a bridge in Southampton, in England. I came across people I thought very strange, and they, like you, believed I had become a nutcase because I had no idea who they were, and also because I was freaking out. The women wore dresses, corsets, and heels, while the men wore blazers and drank caviar._

_I knew I wasn't in our world anymore._

_I mean, how could I be if, one moment I was in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean aboard a ship, then the next I was on a bridge in England, thought to have tried and committed suicide. That was one of the first things that caught my attention; I hadn't tried anything rash every since you found me._

_It was the fourth of April, 1912._

_The family I ended up with, though peculiar I thought them to be, weren't just anyone. And I wasn't just anyone to them. To them, I was Rosalinda DeWitt Bukater, whom you and I met, along with Bodine, aboard the Kydesh, and knew as Rose Dawson._

Brock felt his heart skip a beat.

_I don't know how to explain this to you in one letter, nor how to make you believe me that, even though I fell into the 'Ship of Dreams', what I went through was no dream at all._

_My mother was Ruth DeWitt Bukater, a woman who looked down at poverty as though it were Death itself. I was engaged to Caledon Hockley, a man who cared about nothing but his manly pride. I boarded the Titanic on the tenth of April, 1912. I met a young man of the age of twenty, a Third Class passenger who had won his ticket while gambling. We shared many things in common and I fell in love with him, and I knew he loved me as much as I loved him._

_I loved Jack Dawson, Brock. And not in the way a girl loves her sibling or her parent. Not like I love you, brother._

_What he and I had, though it was practically rushed... it was real. He showed me a whole new me I never thought I could be. He showed me feelings, and a freedom I never thought I could feel. And he made me promise to not let go. I broke that promise, but now I am taking it upon myself to renew it and keep it._

_I won't let go._

_Now, before I finish this letter, I want to thank you for everything you've done. Had you not saved me in 1995, had you not taken me under your wing and brought me onto your ship, I would've never discovered what I had spent my life wondering. There isn't really a word I could say that would show you how grateful I am, so, as a token of my gratitude and appreciation, I send you a gift you will find in the package. I hope that will put to rest your years of research and will bring you the satisfaction you sought in this expedition._

Curious, Brock placed the letter on the table and opened the package. There was a vintage dress in it. The one Avery wore when they fished her out of the water and brought her back aboard the Kydesh. It was seemingly recently cleaned, but not at all repaired from the damage caused by what Brock didn't know. Neatly folded within the box it had been placed, he grabbed it and lifted it, frowning in slight confusion when he found a clean blazer, as equally damaged as the dress. It was the blazer of a man. He still wondered why she had had that.

_Even though I fell into the 'Ship of Dreams', what I went through was no dream at all..._

He picked up the blazer and frowned, even more confused when he felt it weight a bit more than a regular blazer. However, the weight was not balanced. He spread the blazer over the table and padded it down, trying to see where the extra weight came from. There was something in the left pocket. Brows furrowing in curiosity, he reached inside, and what he brought out made his heart stop altogether.

He rushed back toward the letter.

_It was a gift for myself, or rather Rose DeWitt Bukater, from Caledon Hockley. Do with it what you wish, I have no care for it. However, I would like to have the clothes back. I also want to see you, if so is possible. I want to share the events I went through with you, share my experience with you. This is why I invite you to attend my play. It will take place at the Curran Theatre, on the fourteenth of April. I hope to see you there, Brock._

_With all my heart,  
Avery Dawson_

Brock slumped back onto his chair, staring down at the letter, and the clothes in surprise, though his disbelief was mostly aimed toward the jewel in his hand.

The Heart of the Ocean.

After all this time, she had been the one to have it in her possession. After all this time, what she had told him had been true.

He felt like a fool for not _listening_ to her. He _was_ a fool.

"Brock!" Paulianna ran in, almost breathless. "Brock, you better come see this."

Brock sighed tiredly and glanced at the digital clock hanging on the wall. Had he really stayed there that long?

"Anna, it's three a—"

"I don't care what time it is. This one's waited long enough."

He gave her a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

Taking a deep breath, she brought a paper out of the packet of her jacket it and gently unfolded it and placed it on the table. If his heart could drop to the bottom of the ocean, it would be there now.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded, eyeing the wet and slightly frozen paper with incredulity.

"That's not important," she waved him off. "Look at the bottom."

He did and froze.

_April 14, 1912  
Avery Rosalinda Lovett._

"I know," Paulianna mumbled. "That's not all."

"What else could there be?"

"The man on the drawing?"

"What about him?" Brock asked.

Paulianna took a deep, shaky breath before replying.

"We found him with it," she whispered. "Alive."


	15. My heart will go on...

The fight back to consciousness was a slow and disorientating process that Jack would pay anything to be able to avoid. No matter how many times he had been knocked unconscious, the return to the waking world was a chore every damned time. The vulnerability of those first minutes was something that his simpleton mindset simply could not reconcile with.  
  
This time, coming back from the darkness was a lot more difficult than all the others put together though, and Jack had no idea of why. His mind was at an all-time slow and it felt as if someone had replaced his brain with cotton and a set of drums, very loud drums; his body was no better, he felt heavy and sluggish. He felt like Atlas— like the weight of the world was sitting on top of him and at the same time trying to push him back into the abyss he had barely escaped from. For a brief moment he panicked, but there was little he could do in his state, with his body numb and his mind miles away, too addled and basically incapable of putting together the pieces of the puzzle his memories had become.

Jack tried to calm his aching, racing heart, but he found it impossible to focus. It was suddenly too dark and the space around him too constricting, practically suffocating the life back out of him. He tried to reason with himself, to calm his fastening pulse because panicking never did any good to anyone; he tried opening his eyes; if only he could see his surroundings.... if he could see if his beloved was still with him; he was sure everything would be better. Even if he was in a cold cell somewhere he could ground himself with the solid knowledge of _where_ and _who_ was with him...

His eyes didn't open.

Jack couldn't tell if he had been blinded on purpose or if he was just too tired to open them. It didn't matter because his breathing was coming faster now and he found his frustration being swallowed by the beginning of a panic attack.

He didn't remember what exactly happened next. He had been told, of course, but the only thing he could remember was a steady voice pitched high, calming and comforting all at once. For a brief moment, it had reminded him of Avery and that was what truly calmed him because Avery would never hurt him, Avery was his love, his protegee, and even protector. She was his guardian angel.

Then something warm enveloped him and he knew no more. This time the darkness around him was the calming cadence of sleep instead of the drowning void of unconsciousness.

So he let go.

The second time Jack pushed his way into awareness the process went far more smoothly than his last attempt. His body still felt abnormally heavy and his thoughts seemed to be waddling in syrup, but this time his eyes responded to his command and his head was mostly clear, if a bit slow in the uptake. Opening his eyes in an unknown place and situation had been a mistake, but fortunately, it seemed like he was alone for the time being so he pushed the slip-up aside. From his prone position, Jack proceeded to catalog what he saw and felt.

He immediately knew that he was lying on a bed, bigger and more comfortable than any other bed he had ever slept on, with soft linens that screamed expensive to his senses so attuned to poverty. He was covered with at least five blankets, much to his confusion. His confusion fled when he realized that he was _cold_ in spite of the heat surrounding the room, so either it was winter in this place or something was very wrong with him because Jack hadn't felt cold, really cold, since he had been in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, with Avery.

 _Avery_...

That made alarms to go off in Jack's head. Momentarily forgetting about his surroundings, Jack shoved the blankets away from his body and noticed that he was wearing rather peculiar clothes than the old rags he had gotten used to. Ignoring this, he proceeded to take stock of his injuries. And frowned when all he found was unmarred skin… no, not quite unmarred. It was actually more sensitive to touch than what was normal for him, and too pink, almost as if he had scrubbed himself too hard and for too long. Apart from that, there was nothing that could tell him why he was shivering when he wasn't supposed to feel cold in the first place except in the direst of circumstances.

"You're awake," said an unfamiliar voice.

Jack, startled, instantly took on a defensive position... well, as defensive as he could while still being tucked into the bed. His hands clenched around the blankets, and his body tensed in anticipation

"Hey, are you alright?" the man asked in a worried tone. He also was standing closer, out of immediate reach, but closer. And Jack hadn't noticed. Yup, he was definitely way out of his game today.

"I'm fine, there's no need for you to be concerned," he lied.

He almost cringed at how pathetic his attempt at misdemeanor was. However, instead of dwelling on that, he observed and cataloged the newcomer in his mind. He was old, but not too old, around his late thirties perhaps, tallish but of slight built, muscled but just so. He had a mess of dark brown hair, long enough that it reached his eyes, partly covered his ears and caressed the nape of his neck, and the bluest and most tired eyes Jack had ever seen.

His observations were cut short when a female voice spoke up.

"You're shivering."

He looked toward the door of the room and found a blonde woman standing there, hazel eyes wide with worry. She was a short woman who looked rather young, about his own age. She was also rather slim, but subtly curved and quite an astonishing sight.

Jack grasped the words she said and looked down at himself. He was indeed shivering, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

"It's nothing," he said, but inwardly he was starting to get worried.

Why was he shivering so much? His brows scrunched up as he tried to recall what he had been doing before… before what? What had happened to him? Disjointed pieces of information came to him, but they didn't make any sense at all in that fashion until it all hit him at once.

He remembered pursuing Avery until he had her. Running with her, away from the officers aboard the Titanic. He remembered holding her, kissing her... making her his. He remembered being framed afterward for apparently stealing a diamond that was worth far beyond his knowledge. He remembered the ship hitting the iceberg and Avery coming back for him because _she_ believed him. She knew he was innocent, so she came back for him. He remembered how that ol' penguin chased them from the deck back inside and almost killed them. He remembered running back to the bow of the ship, where he had first met Avery.

_"I love you, Avery," he blurted out in a whisper.  
"I love you, Jack," she whispered back._

He made her promise not to let go.... did she? Did she move on—

"How the hell do you know my sister?"

"Brock!"

Jack blinked and looked up at the man, confused. "What do you mean?"

The man moved around the dark room for a moment before settling down on a chair beside Jack. The sound of a paper being unfolded was heard before the lamp on the night table was turned on, almost blinding him. He placed the paper in front of Jack and gave him an indecipherable look.

"My sister drew this three years ago in a freakin' taxi. She had no idea who you were, then, suddenly, I find you in frozen in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with the same drawing, except it's not the same because I have the dry, three-year-old one in her uninhabited room next door, which hasn't been touched since she left, and this one has her signature." His gaze hardened. "How do you know her?"

"... your sister?"

Brock groaned. "That's all you got? Really, kid?"

"Avery," Jack said slowly.

Brock was on the brink of throwing a childish fit, which was not exactly something one would like to see from an almost forty-year-old man. The woman, then, decided to step forward and enter the room. She walked up behind Brock and placed a hand on his shoulder to get him to calm down. He did, but only slightly, so she took it upon herself to continue the interrogation.

"Hi, I'm Paulianna Simmons... but you can call me Anna. What's your name?" she asked kindly.

Jack looked at her for a moment, warily, before answering quietly. "Jack Dawson."

"Er... nice to meet you," she said, offering a comforting smile. "Now, I know you're confused right now, and tired, even though you've been basically asleep for a long... _long_ time. And you're probably hungry too, which is why I brought you some food."

She lifted a paper bag that had a large, yellow 'M' written on it, and held it out toward him. He realized she wanted him to take it, but he couldn't help but hesitate.

"Go on, take it." And he did. "I'm sure it's nothing you're used to, but it's pretty good stuff."

The food looked strange— bread round like buns women make of their hair, meat crusty yet good, potato sliced into many sticks... It was strange but filling and appetizing. There was a drink as well. It was dark brown, almost black like coffee, but the taste was nowhere near it. The drink was somewhat gassy and sweet, but it was good too.

Paulianna watched him with raised eyebrows as he eagerly ate his food, while Brock sat on the side, grumbling grumpily to himself.

"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

Jack looked up at her for a moment, then shook his head.

"You know Avery Rosalinda Lovett... right?" Jack slowed his mastication and looked at her warily again.

He nodded slowly, placing what she told him was a chicken burger, back into its little box. "How do _you_ know her?" he asked.

She smiled. "I met her in school; she's my best friend. This—" She motioned toward the grumpy man who was now looking at him with a slight hint of interest. "— is Brock Lovett. Her brother. Well, adoptive really, but they're siblings all the same."

Jack blinked back, surprised. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth with it before looking at Brock. "You're Avery's brother?"

"Yes, I am," Brock replied with a nod.

Jack's face paled. "You're her brother," he repeated slowly.

Brock raised an eyebrow at him. "That's what I said."

Jack was silent for a moment before he looked up at them, the expression on his face undecipherable. " _When_ am I?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Avery, Avery! Calm down, will you?"

She sighed, running a hand through her curly reddish-brown hair. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I can't," she apologized to the brunette. "The play's in less than a week, and I've got to make sure everything is perfect."

"Hey," the woman placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look, you wrote the book and everyone loved it. They're gonna love the play too."

But that didn't settle Avery's nerves.

"Are you genuinely nervous about how it'll turn out, or because James Cameron's gonna be there?"

Avery groaned. "Gee, thanks for reminding, Rae."

Rachel rolled her eyes at her. "Or maybe you're nervous because you don't know whether your brother and that Polly girl will turn up."

"Her name is Paulianna," Avery corrected.

"Avery."

"Okay, fine! I'm nervous because of how it'll turn out, because Mr. Cameron'll be there, and because I have no idea if my brother or Anna will come since I haven't gotten any reply to my last letter."

"Maybe they're planning to surprise you," Rachel suggested.

Avery sighed. "Maybe, maybe not. I don't know."

"Ave, relax. I'm telling you, everything's going to be fine. Everyone is doing what they have to do, every actor is practicing their lines, but they're ready. The show will go perfectly; all you have to do is trust us, relax, then on the fourteenth, sit back and enjoy it without a worry, while you wait to perform your song which you will ace!"

Avery looked at her for a moment, then sighed and nodded, giving the brunette a small smile. "Okay, you're right."

Rachel grinned. "Of course I am."

Avery rolled her eyes and playfully shoved her away. "Don't let it get to your head."

"Too late."

Avery chuckled, shaking her head. "Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Rachel tilted her head to the side and sent her a playful military salute. "No problem. Now, go home and rest. You deserve it."

"Alright, okay, no need to kick me out."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'll see you at the play, Ave."

"See ya, Rae."

On that note, she grabbed her things and began her way toward the exit. On her way down the stairs, she found herself bumping into a familiar young redheaded girl, who was making her way up, with her nose buried in her book. Avery squinted her eyes, then raised her brows at the girl who looked up at her, startled.

"Miss Dawson! I'm so sorry."

Avery chuckled and waved her off. "It's fine, Holland... didn't you already read the book?"

The young girl gave her a sheepish smile. "Five times..."

"So far?"

"This week." Avery chuckled. "I know some people think it's stupid to re-read the same thing so many times, but I really like it. Plus, it helps me get more into character, you know? Re-reading it, it's like I'm actually Rose... and it's actually fun. I really like how she rebels in the end, though I find it quite sad Jack didn't survive."

Avery gave her a small smile. "It is."

"Maybe you could do like a mini-sequel! Oh, like what if Jack had really survived, or something like that! That would be amazing!"

Avery chuckled once more. "Maybe. Well, I won't keep you from enjoying my book."

Holland's smile fell. "You're leaving?"

She checked her watch and shrugged. "Well, it is rather late. You should go home too; wouldn't want your mother to worry so much, now would we?"

Holland shrugged. "She'll get used to. But you're right. I'll see you at the play!"

"Alright, Holland, have a good night."

And Avery turned, making her way toward the door, chuckling to herself again when she heard Holland calling after her, "I won't disappoint you!"

The moment Avery stepped outside, she shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. The air was chilly that night. It was nothing the cold breeze one felt at sea as it was more suffocating mainly because of all the buildings around. However, the air was fresh and relaxing for her.

"Going home, Miss Dawson?"

Avery opened her eyes and smiled at the old man who was holding the door of the black car open. It was Edwin Hartwell, her butler of two years now. She didn't treat him much as so, she saw him more like a father who took good care of her.

"Yes, Eddie. Home we go," she said softly as she got into the car.

_Four more nights, and hopefully I'll see Brock and Anna again._

The drive home was silent, though nowhere near uncomfortable. A ninety-forties song blared through the radio, a beautifully harmonized duet ringing softly through the night, soothing Avery to sleep. She only woke up slightly when she felt the car stop and the door on her side open.

"Would you like me to make you some coffee, Miss Dawson?"

Avery gave him a small smile and shook her head. "Not tonight, Eddie."

The old man smile, amused. "I see you have decided to take Miss Clarke's advice."

Avery chuckled and nodded. "Rachel's right. I should rest every once in a while."

"Well, don't let me stop you," said the old butler, holding the door to her mansion open.

She smiled as she walked in. "Good night, Eddie."

"Good night, Miss Dawson."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack told them everything. From the moment he won his ticket with his friend Fabrizio, to his whole journey aboard the Titanic. In spite of himself, Brock found himself laughing when Jack told him what Avery said the first time he heard her speak.

_Holy shit!_

Of course she would say that. She was Avery; that was practically her catchphrase. Mutual feelings were settled between Jack and the pair that lived together, and they developed a sincere friendship as the three of them shared a mutual friend.

Jack knew it was going to be hard for him, being in a completely different era— before, he couldn't even begin to imagine how it had felt like for Avery, but now he knew. Now he knew what it was like to be out of place and out of time. Luckily for him, Paulianna and Brock offered to help him adjust better. They offered little help, but he wasn't about to decline; he knew he needed help, and right now, he would take all the help he could get, especially if that was going to prepare him for when he reunited with Avery.

That's right, he was going to go see her at her play, with Brock and Paulianna. He knew she was older now, more mature— heck, she had probably moved on by now. He knew it was selfish of him, but he hoped she hadn't.

She had been the first spark of genuine happiness he'd felt in a long time, and although it felt like he had only seen her a few days ago, it also felt like forever. And now he could imagine would it felt like for her, and all he wanted at that moment, more than ever, was to hold her in his arms. Have her right there before him, smiling brightly at him like she had done when they'd stood at the bow of the Titanic and shared their first kiss. He wanted to hold her till his arms ached,  till the heat between them made him sweat, kiss her till he couldn't breathe— he wanted her with him. Just the two of them, like they had been on the Renault.

Jack knew that, although she had been his at one point, he couldn't hope for such to be again. But he couldn't help it. It was practically agonizing as all he could do now was recover, treat his newfound illness he discovered under the name of pneumonia, and wait until the fourteenth of April came along to meet his awaited fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Wednesday, April 14, 1999**

"Avery! Psst!"

Said woman blinked in confusion and glanced toward one of the side doors of the theater that led toward the backstage. There stood Rachel Clarke, her right-hand-woman who kept her in check and made sure her plans never went out of control. The brunette was motioning her to follow her into the backstage.

Tightening her hold on her golden hand-clutch, she rose from her seat located on one of the side balconies and made her way down the stairs and toward the backstage where Rachel was waiting for her, her blue gown practically sweeping the floor as she paced around.

"Rachel..."

Head snapping up at the sound of her name, Rachel let out a relieved sigh. "Good, you're here."

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, no! God, no. I just thought it best to make you come up now since you'll be going up soon."

Avery nodded in understanding. "Good thinking. Hey, is the reception ready for the dinner afterward?"

"All done and in order. The chefs started cooking already, so everything would be ready when the show's over and everyone goes there," she told the redhead, causing her to nod and sigh in relief.

They were both silent for a moment, watching as Holland and Zac, the young man who was playing Jack's part, reached the scene where the boat was sinking. Avery could feel her heart clench as she remembered that moment as though it had just happened the previous day.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Avery blinked and felt a tear slide down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and nodded, giving Rachel a small smile. "Yeah, it's just... you know, sinking ship— emotional scene."

"Right..." Though it was clear Rachel was unconvinced by Avery's excuse. She, however, dismissed it for the moment, as the ending neared quickly.

**_"Take a deep breath and hold it right before we go into the water. The ship will suck us down. Kick for the surface and keep kicking. Don't let go of my hand. We're gonna make it, Ave. Trust me."  
"I trust you."_ **

Fifteen minutes later, all the lights in the auditorium dimmed. The props and decorations were moved and changed while the musicians took their place, and Rachel went onstage to present Avery.

Up on one of the balcony seats which were reserved for _special_ people, Paulianna Simmons sat in between Brock Lovett and Jack Dawson. Lizzy Calvert sat at Brock's free side, in a silver satin gown, her hair pulled up into a neat bun. Paulianna wore a beautiful violet gown, her usually wavy hair straightened and pulled back, while both men wore brand new black tuxedos.

"Guys, she's coming up," Paulianna mumbled, leaning forward in her seat in anticipation.

"We know that, Anna, but please remain in your seat. We don't need you falling out of this balcony right now," Brock mumbled, gently pushing her back into her seat.

The single spotlight that shone over Rachel dimmed, leaving the room to fall into a complete darkness.

Suddenly, a guitar began to resonate through the speakers, along with a flute and a chorus of strings. The melody was soft and soothing and gave an air of the quietness of an ocean. Jack watched intently, his heart beginning to pound against his chest when the familiar soft voice echoed through the speakers as soft as the sound of an ocarina.

" _Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you... That is how I know you go on._ "

The many people who had already been in tears from the sad story that had been displayed before them in the form of a play practically burst into another fit of silent sobs at the beauty of the words and the voice that flowed through the room which began to illuminate with colorful lights.

Finally, one solely bright shone at the center of the stage, where stood the master of the song, the play, and the book. The young woman with the silky, reddish-brown hair that cascaded down a few inches past her shoulders, was dressed in a stunning silk black gown with gold high-heeled slippers only slightly visible from underneath the bodice's skirt. She was twenty-one years old and beautiful, regal of bearing, with piercing blue-green eyes. It was indeed Avery Rosalinda Lovett, under the alias of Avery Rosalinda _Dawson_ as she had called herself for the past two years.

The songs were short, yet it seemed so long and it was just so beautiful what with the way she poured her emotions into each note she sang and how her voice followed the music perfectly.

**_"I love you, Avery," he blurted out in a whisper.  
"I love you, Jack," she whispered back._ **

" _Love can touch us one time, and last for a lifetime. And never let go 'til we're gone._ " A single tear rolled down her cheek, and that was enough to set more people to cry in awe.

**_"Don't... not now... don't say your goodbyes, Avery. Don't you give up just yet. Don't do it."  
"I'm so cold."_ **

" _Love was when I loved you,_ _one true time I hold to,_ " she said, her voice slightly trembling at that moment. " _In my life, we'll always go on..._ "

**_"You're going to get out of this... you're going to go on and you're going to make babies and watch them grow and you're going to die an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Do you understand me?"  
"I can't feel my body..."_ **

The musicians made a crescendoing transition from the calming verse into a much more powerful symphony as it engaged the chorus.

" _Near, far, wherever you are,_ " her voice came loud and strong. " _I believe that the heart does go on! Once more you open the door, and you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on!_ "

**_"Avery, listen to me. Listen. Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me. It brought me to you. And I'm thankful, Avery. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... no matter what happens... no matter how hopeless... promise me now, and never let go of that promise."  
"I promise."_ **

Her hands tightened around the black microphone as she closed her eyes shut, shutting the world away as she sung at the top of her lungs.

" _You're here, there's nothing I fear, and I know that my heart will go on..._ "

**_"Never let go."  
"I promise. I will never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."_ **

" _We'll stay forever this way, you are safe in my heart, and my heart will go..._ " The instruments stopped, leaving nothing but her beautiful voice to echo through the auditorium, only joining her at the end. " _... on and on..._ "

The song faded out, with only the strings remaining for one last round before ending completely, closing the show. Then, the auditorium erupted into the most thunderous applause it had ever had as the curtains of the stage closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A movie? This forty-five-year-old filmmaker wanted to make a movie based on her book and play?!

Rachel subtly jabbed Avery at her side, snapping the young woman out of her reverie. She blinked, surprised and uncertain.

"You want to make a movie... based on my— the story I wrote?" the redheaded woman asked slowly.

James Cameron nodded. "I would very much so like it. Perhaps even hire your actors, if you would let me?"

Avery glanced at Rachel who was already smiling and nodding. She turned back to the man, who held his wife close by his side, both smiling. She returned the smile and nodded her consent.

"Yes! I would really love that. I have no doubt you will make an excellent job."

James nodded. "I will do my best to do your characters and your story justice. Perhaps we can schedule an appointment to discuss a further contract?"

"Yes, of course. My dear friend and assistant, Rachel, will see to that later," Avery agreed. "For now, relax and enjoy yourselves. I hope you like the servings."

"Of course, enjoy yourself as well, Miss Dawson."

Avery wandered around the reception, her hands grasped one in the other in front of her, her fingers fiddling with one another as she had nothing to hold to keep herself calm. So far, she had gotten nothing but compliments to her play and book, and a few autographs asked here and there. She could not, however, stop feeling nervous as she still hadn't found out whether her brother and best friend had come.

"Champagne?"

Avery jumped slightly, startled. She spun around and chuckled, shaking her head at the old man standing before her.

"Eddie, I brought you here to relax for once, not to do other people's jobs."

He chuckled, the platter on his hand never once losing its balance. "I apologize, Miss Dawson. I guess it's just a habit."

"A bad habit. You always tell me I should rest every now and then; you should take your own advice."

"Perhaps I should, but, while I'm here," He held the silver trey toward her, a slightly mischievous smile on his lips. "Champagne."

Avery laughed and shook her head. "You know I don't drink that."

"That's why I brought you water," he said, picking a tulip glass that, indeed, contained water.

She smiled as she took it from his hand. "Thanks, Eddie." She drank a bit, then sighed, downing it all before turning to her butler. "I think I will have that champagne after all."

Edwin chuckled and handed her one glass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was beautiful, standing there with her glass of champagne in one hand, while she chatted politely with a few people who had come to see her show. Her eyes sparkled with a new light Jack had never seen in them. However, he noticed they didn't shine with the happiness they had possessed when they had been together.

"You should talk to her." He turned and found Brock looking over at his sister too. "I mean, that is why I brought you here."

Jack looked back at the beauty and sighed, shaking his head. "I want to..."

"But you have no idea what you're going to say," the older man guessed.

Jack shook his head, then frowned, slightly panicked, when he noticed Brock preparing himself to go talk to her. "You're gonna talk to her?"

Brock shrugged. "Gotta make amends," he replied. He then reached a hand up and patted Jack on the shoulder. "Don't get lost, kid. And don't make her wait too long; she will move on eventually if you do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I see you've only grown more talented and beautiful."

Avery spun on her heels at the familiar voice and almost dropped her glass of champagne. She would have, had Edwin not been there to grab it from her and place it on his platter of empty glasses.

"I will be around if you need me, Miss Dawson."

She merely nodded at the old man who retreated almost immediately to leave them the space they needed to talk privately.

"Brock..." she whispered.

"Hey, Roe."

"Y-you came..."

He shrugged. "I couldn't miss my little sister's play."

Avery stared at him for a moment before letting out a small disbelieving laugh. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. Chuckling under his breath, Brock closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug.

"I missed you so much," she mumbled against his shoulder.

"I missed you too, Roe." He slowly pulled away then grabbed her hand, holding her at arm's length. "I see the years have done you well."

She smiled. "And you... not so much," she said jokingly.

He rolled his eyes at her, then tugged slightly on her hand, pulling her arm up to tangle it with his own. "So... was that James Cameron I saw back there?"

Avery nodded excitedly. "Yes, and guess what? He wants to make a movie out of my story!"

Brock shared her joy about it and smiled brightly as they continued to speak of her many achievements to date. The Titanic had been her first artwork, but it sure wasn't going to be her last.

It wasn't until after a good twenty minutes of their talk that Brock chose to change their conversation's path.

"You've come far," said Brock as he reached his free hand inside his blazer.

Avery's smile filled itself with fondness as she gazed around the room, her eyes shifting from one member of her team to another, and so on. "Well, I wouldn't have gotten this far without my team."

"Well... I believe you wouldn't have gone so far with this story if you hadn't actually witnessed the moment to share it after."

Her head snapped his way, her eyes being the only ones to display her confusion as her face took on a more neutral expression. "What do you mean?"

Brock's mouth opened and closed many times before he shut it and thought. Finally, he looked at her and said, "I owe you an apology."

Avery chuckled, her confusion not wavering. "What do you mean?" she repeated.

"I know one of the reasons you left was because I didn't believe—"

"Brock—"

"Avery, for once don't pretend it wasn't because of that, 'cause we both know it was, and I want to apologize." She looked at him, expression unreadable, waiting for him to go on. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not _listening_ to you. For not believing you and thinking you had lost your mind. I'm sorry for every jerk reaction I gave you... I'm sorry."

She stared at him for a long moment before finally asking, "You believe me?" He sighed and nodded. "What made you?"

"Well, there was this," He brought out a small wine colored box and opened it, revealing the diamond she had sent him.

She shook her head and closed it, pushing it further into his palm. "No, it's yours. You spent six years looking for it, and three out of those six... I had it. Now I want you to have it."

Brock said nothing but untangled his arm from hers, then reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a sheet of paper she found oddly familiar. Putting the jewel in its box away, he unfolded the paper and stepped closer to her.

"And this," he said, then, after making sure no one was watching, he showed it to her.

To say she was shocked would be an understatement. A faint pink tint adorning her cheeks, she grabbed the paper, her eyes stuck on the detail that stuck out the most.

 _Portrait of Jack Dawson, drawn in 1996, The Future._  
By yours truly,  
Avery Lovett

"How.... how did you come by _this_?" she whispered, her eyes beginning to water.

Brock straightened his posture as he began to glance around, his eyes searching. "Well, there's—" He cut himself off and mentally groaned when he noticed Jack rushing toward the exit with Paulianna right at his heels. He sighed and looked back down at his sister. "You know what? This is your night. Your big break! I shouldn't have thrown this all on you."

"Brock—"

"How about you give me your phone number and address and we'll talk when you don't have more guests to attend."

Avery bit her lip, hesitantly, before nodding with a small sigh of resignation. "Alright," she said softly, a faint British accent he'd just realized she had. "You can go see Edwin on your way out. My butler. He's got small cards where I've written my address and all." She paused for a moment, lips pursing as she looked him straight in the eyes. "But you promise, right? We'll talk? You'll... explain _this_?"

He smiled, bringing her into a warm embrace. "I promise, Roe," he said softly.

With that said, he grabbed the paper back, then folded it neatly and put it away. He then placed a brotherly kiss on her rosy cheek, then bid her luck and his farewell before going off to find Lizzie.

"What's wrong?" she asked him as soon once he'd found her. "Where are Jack and Anna— did they talk to Avery?"

Brock shook his head, placing a hand on his arm as he led her toward the exit. "No. But I'm about to find out why."

The pair walked out but putting on their coats before stepping out into the chilly night. They stopped on the steps of the theatre, however, when they heard Paulianna speaking in a demanding manner, with a scolding edge to her tone.

"Why won't you speak with her?"

"Didn't you see her? She's already happy!"

Paulianna let out a laugh of disbelief. "Happy?" She sighed and shook her head. "Yes, Jack, she's happy about everything she's achieved in the past three years. She's proud of herself for that. But she's not _happy_ — she lives a lonely life with an old butler." She stepped forward. "But you know what will make her _really happy_? You."

Jack shook his head and looked away, but Paulianna wasn't letting him get away.

"Jack, you have no idea how many times she's spoken of you. Brock and I didn't believe her, and we regret it now, but then... we didn't know. We simply let her talk because those were the only times she really looked happy." She smiled fondly at the memory of her best friend. "You have no idea... how happy she got talking about how she met you, how you were, how you could've been—" Her smile faded. "— but then she would get sad when she'd realize you're gone. But you're not now. You're here, alive— sick, but alive and still pretty healthy... and pretty."

"Did you just call me a pretty guy?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not my point." She sighed again. "She loves you, Jack. She loved you enough to move on in her life, but too much to let you go."

"Anna's right." The pair turned to see Brock walking towards them, Lizzie a few feet behind, letting them have their talk before she could join them. "She wrote a story about the two of you. Sure, she didn't add the whole being from two different times— she tweaked it, but she still wrote about you. She wrote it, and found an actress who would _show_ how much she loved you. How much she still does."

"Talk to her. If not today, then—" Brock held out a small piece of paper to Jack. "Go see her tomorrow."

Jack took the paper and unfolded it, finding an address written down in familiar cursive letters. The words written the end of the piece of paper made him crack, even though he knew it wasn't meant for him.

_Please come see me..._


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. There will be some mature content nearing the end of this last chapter, so you know if you're old enough to read it, or want to either way, by all means— go right ahead. I tried to make that part as detailed yet clean as possible, meaning I didn't put any dirty talking or any of that stuff. It's a simple reunion-love scene. Putting that aside, I hope you like the chapter.

Dressed in a neat dark suit Brock had given him, Jack stood outside the large oak doors of the ' _Dawson_ ' residence, still indecisive on whether he should knock or not.

_She loves you, Jack. She loved you enough to move on in her life, but too much to let you go._

He sighed. _If that's true, now all I have to hope is that I don't give her a heart attack,_ he thought. Mind finally set, he raised his hand toward the door, though before he could even give it a first knock, it opened, revealing the old man Jack recognized from the previous night.

Edwin, was it? Yes, that's right. Edwin Hartwell, Brock had told him, Avery's butler.

The old man's aged, thin lips curled up into a knowing smile. "Ah, Mr. Dawson."

Jack blinked in surprise. "You... you know me?"

The old man chuckled. "I know of you. There's a large portrait of you the Missus had painted of you in the lounge."

Jack took a cautious step backward. "You're not gonna have a heart attack, are you?" he blurted out, mentally face-palming himself for how stupid that must have sounded.

The old man chuckled again. "No, Mr. Dawson. I have prepared my heart and mind for this sort of stuff ever since I met and began to dedicate my services to the Mistress of this humble abode. Please come in, it must be chilly outside."

"O-of course. Thanks," said the young man as he followed the butler inside.

"It is rather early," said Edwin. "If you have not had your morning meal yet, may I offer you one? The Missus will awaken soon for her own, which is still cooking."

Jack nodded. "Erm... sure, thanks."

Edwin led the young man into the main lounge, then with one last smile sent his way, he left him there and went to finish up making breakfast for Avery, himself, and now Jack as well. After bringing the young man out of time his plate and leaving him to his thoughts, he took the last plate along with his own to Avery's room; they often ate together, on her call, especially after long nights such as the previous one. He knocked, then went in either way when he received no answer; she was still asleep.

He entered the large, dark room, rolling the metal cart that carried the dishes in front of him and left it on the side, before closing the door, then making his way over to the long red satin curtains.

She groaned and turned in her bed when the hot rays of sunshine hit her face.

"Rise and shine, Miss Dawson."

She moaned tiredly. "No..." she mumbled, with a slight childish edge to her tone.

He chuckled, walking over to her bed. "I suggest you do before I call Rachel instead."

She froze, then peaked through her wild curls at him. "You wouldn't."

He smiled, a hint of mischief glittering in his eyes. "You know I would, Miss."

She groaned. Whenever there were days like the current, when she felt too lazy and just didn't want to get up, Edwin would call Rachel who would rush over and bring her to wake in an unpleasant way. The last time, she poured all over her three buckets of water recently bathed in by dogs; Avery spent the next hour and a half in the shower, emptying her body wash and shampoo all over herself.

"Fine, I'm up," she mumbled, running a hand through her hair as she sat up.

"Good. Your breakfast is ready," said Edwin as he finished placing the covered dishes on the small, two-seated, glass table that was placed by the window that displayed the city.

"Have there been any calls?" Avery asked as she helped herself to her warms scrambled eggs.

"None of urgent manner. You've received some e-mails, one from Rachel regarding Mr. Cameron. I flagged the message so you would know which one it is. You've got a lot of mail."

"Any regarding the house?"

Edwin smiled as he helped himself to his meal. "Yes, actually. The payment is complete; this mansion is officially yours."

Avery sighed in content. "Finally. I may die in peace," she said in a joking manner.

Edwin chuckled at her subtle theatrics. "Not just yet, Miss Dawson."

Avery smiled and shook her head, knowing it would be useless to scold him for calling her so. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?" she asked as she reached over to her glass of orange juice.

"Yes, you have a visitor. However, I think it would be best if you finish your breakfast first; I do believe you will be in for quite a shock, and I honestly don't want you to spend another few days without eating from shock," he said quickly.

Avery frowned. She understood his concern; there had been many times she'd gone into shock, and she'd spend the next few days after that without eating. But what about the visitor would make her go into shock?

She sighed, choosing not to argue. "Alright. Has the visitor been seen to?"

"Yes," said Edwin, with a small relieved smile. "He is currently eating the morning meal I offered him."

"He?"

Edwin smiled. "You will have to finish your meal before you could see who it is, Miss Dawson."

She pouted slightly but agreed nonetheless. A few twenty minutes later, the both of them had finished their meals, and Avery was once again alone in her room. She stood in front of her mirror, hand moving her large brush through her hair bringing it out of its morning wild curls into a smoother, wavier tone. She then put her hairbrush down and bit her lip as she wondered rather she should change into something more appropriate to greet her guest or stay as she was in her sleepwear— tank top and shorts.

Shrugging to herself, she grabbed her robe and threw it over her shoulder before she slipped her feet into a pair of gray ankle-length, knitted slippers that matched with her tank top, then she walked toward the door, choosing to stay as she was; it was her house after all. She could do as she pleased. She soundlessly walked down the large wooden staircase, slipping on her robe along the way before stepping onto the marble ground. She then glided across the floor, her robe she'd left hanging loosely on her body, swooshing behind her with every step, only settling once she stood in front of the door of the main lounge. She hesitated for a moment before opening the door, quietly closing it behind her.

There was a man. She couldn't tell whether it was someone she knew or not as his back was facing her; he was looking up at the large portrait that hung above her fireplace. It was the one she'd painted of Jack, not so long ago. She squinted her eyes slightly, her brows furrowing as a wave of familiarity washed over her.

How could she find familiarity from looking at someone's back?

Shaking her head to herself, she stepped away from the shadows that surrounded the door and walked forward. Passing her desk, she cleared her throat, causing the man to spin on his heels.

The world suddenly stopped. Her heart and mind stopped, but the rest of her did not.

Her eyes widened and stumbled backward, her hip bumping hard against one corner of her desk. She, however, paid no attention to the pain shooting through her side as she took in what she thought was a vision too vivid to be considered a hallucination.

"Avery..." it said.

But she barely heard.

Was this real? Was this a dream? Was this someone's idea of a cruel joke?

She didn't know. All she knew was that this couldn't be possible— he couldn't be here.

"Ave," it said again.

She yelped, jumping back in fright.

Realization washed over Jack; she thought she was hallucinating. He wanted to let her know she wasn't, but how? She was frightened enough as it was.

"Avery," he whispered, slowly making his way over to her. "It's me."

She swallowed hard and shook her head frantically as she began to walk backward, not finding herself able to believe it. "N-no, y-you— boat— sank— died— frozen—"

She tripped over a lump on the carpet, though before she could hit the ground, he caught her, emitting a loud gasp from her. Had this been a cartoon of some sort, her eyes would've popped out of their sockets right now from how wide she had them. Her heart pounded loud and hard against her chest, echoing all the way to her eardrums.

"Oh my—"

"Shh, yeah, it's me."

Her eyes filled themselves with tears as she raised a trembling hand toward his face. "Jack," she choked out.

He was just as she remembered him; his dark blond hair falling straight over his eyes which were the same beautiful blue-green yet slightly gray color, and the beauty pronounced in every inch of his soft, boyish features...

He laughed softly, nodding his head as he held her by the waist. "Yeah, Ave. It's me."

And she mumbled her signature phrase "Holy shit," before her eyes fluttered close and her mind wandered off into darkness.

Jack frowned. "Avery?"

She did not respond.

At that moment, the door opened anew, revealing the woman's old butler.

"Am I interrupting something?" he recoiled politely.

Jack looked up, his cheeks tinted pink. "I think she fainted," he whispered in surprise.

The old man looked at him for a moment, then down at the fainted woman and chuckled. "Ah, so it seems she has."

Jack cleared his throat, a tad bit embarrassed with the result. "Is there anywhere I can put her? I don't think she'll be comfortable waking up on that hard couch," he said, nodding his head toward the long, hard sofa in front of the fireplace.

Edwin chuckled again. "She'd be comfortable waking up on the floor," he mused. "But yes, if you would follow me, I will lead you to her room."

Jack nodded and bent down slightly as he moved his right arm to the back of her knees, picking Avery up in one swift move before following after Edwin. The way to her room was rather long, even ignoring how far the large marble staircase went. It wasn't much trouble for Jack anyway as Avery was much lighter than she looked.

Her room reminded him a bit of her cabin back on the Titanic, in which he had done a 'french girl' portrait of her. The walls and the curtains were darkened with rich colors, but the room altogether looked so alive with the many paintings she'd hung on the walls and the light that came in through the windows.

He carried her over to her large bed and gently placed her upon it, tucking her in. He then settled beside her, sitting with his back against the headboard, as he waited for her to wake.

Avery had the sense that she'd been asleep for a very long time— her body was stiff like she hadn't moved once through all that time, either. Her mind was dazed and slow; strange, colorful dreams— dreams and nightmares— swirled dizzily around the inside of my head. They were so vivid. The horrible and the heavenly, all mixed together into a bizarre jumble. There were sharp impatience and fear, both part of that frustrating dream where your feet can't move fast enough… And there were plenty of claws, screams, cries that were all the more ghastly for their genteel civility. The dream was still strong— she could even remember the names. But the strongest, clearest part of the dream was not the horror.

It was the angel with the boyish grin that was most clear.

It was hard to let him go and wake up. This dream did not want to be shoved away into the vault of dreams she refused to revisit. She struggled with it as her mind became more alert, focusing on reality. She couldn't remember what day of the week it was, but she was sure Rachel or work or something was waiting for her. She inhaled deeply, wondering how to face another day.

Something warm touched her forehead with the softest pressure.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. she was still dreaming, it seemed, and it felt abnormally real. She was so close to waking… any second now, and it would be gone. But she realized that it felt too real, too real to be good for her. The strong, warm arms she imagined wrapped around her were far too substantial. If she let this go any further, she'd be sorry for it later.

With a resigned sigh, she wrenched back her eyelids to dispel the illusion.

"Oh!" she gasped and threw her fists over her eyes.

Well, clearly, she'd gone too far; it must have been a mistake to let her imagination get so out of hand. Okay, so "let" was the wrong word. She'd forced it to get out of hand and now her mind had snapped.

It took less than half a second for her to realize that, as long as she was truly insane now, she might as well enjoy the delusions while they were pleasant.

She opened her eyes again— and Jack was still there, his perfect face just inches away from mine.

"Did I scare you?" His low voice was anxious.

This was very good, as delusions went. The face, the voice, the scent, everything— it was so much better than drowning. The beautiful figment of her imagination watched her changing expressions, with alarm. His irises were blue-green yet slightly gray, just as she remembered them to be. This surprised her, though; her hallucinatory Jacks usually looked less real and she could tell they were hallucinations. Now, she wasn't so sure anymore.

She blinked twice, desperately trying to remember the last thing that she was sure was real. Edwin was part of her dream, and she wondered if he had really been there to eat their morning meal together, or if that was just a preamble to what was to happen soon.

"Oh, _crap_ ," she croaked. Her throat was surprisingly less thick than it usually was when she was sleeping.

"What's wrong, Ave?"

She frowned at him unhappily. His face was even more anxious than before.

"I'm dead, right?" she moaned. "I fell overboard and drowned, and it was all a pre-death dream. Crap, crap, crap! This is gonna kill Brock."

Jack frowned, too. "You're not dead."

"Then why am I not waking up?" she challenged, raising her eyebrows.

"You _are_ awake, Avery."

She shook her head. "Sure, sure. That's what you want me to think. And then it will be worse when I do wake up. If I wake up, which I won't, because I'm dead. This is awful. Poor Brock. And Anna and that Lizzie girl... and that ol' Rose— she's gonna blame herself... well, it kind of was her fault I fell…" she trailed off, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

"Wha—did you commit suicide attempts while I was 'gone'?" Jack asked bluntly.

She grimaced. "Obviously not. I'd be in hell. And if I was in hell, you wouldn't be with me."

He sighed.

Her head was getting clearer. Her eyes flickered away from his face—unwillingly— for one second, to the brightened large room, and then back to him. She started to remember details… and she felt a faint, unfamiliar blush warm the skin over her cheekbones as she slowly realized that Jack was really, truly here with her, and she was wasting time being an idiot.

"Did all of that really happen, then?" It was almost impossible to reassign her dream as reality. She couldn't wrap her head around the concept.

"Yes," he said softly.

"And you're really here," she whispered, gasping slightly as he brushed his thumb against her cheek affectionately.

"Yes."

She blinked in shock. "I had to let you go," she whispered. "But I couldn't find it in myself to do so..."

"I know," he said with a small laugh. "Last night..."

She blinked again in surprise. "You were there?"

"I went with Brock, Anna, and Lizzie."

"You met my best friend, my brother and his girlfriend?"

He gave her a sheepish look. "Yeah."

She frowned. "Why didn't you come see me?"

"I wanted to, but every step I took forward, I couldn't help but step back. You looked so happy..."

"But I wasn't."

"I know that _now_." He sighed.

"Though I'm also kind of glad you didn't."

He frowned. "Why?"

She snorted. "I fainted just now. Imagine me doing that last night— it would've been the embarrassment of my life!"

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, unaware of the light it brought to her eyes. She smiled and reached a hand toward his face, caressing it tenderly. She looked at him for a moment longer, then sighed, retracting her hand.

"I need a cold shower... then a burning one," she muttered. "It'll wake me up more."

Jack gave her a sad smile. "Still think you're dead?"

"Somewhat," she replied, rolling off her bed.

"When did you last shower?" Jack asked, rolling off the bed as well.

"Last night, before I went to bed. Wasn't sure the show actually happened."

Jack rolled his eyes at her as he walked around the bed to stand before her. "You seem to have a hard time believing a lot of things lately," he commented.

She gave him a sheepish look. "Can you blame me?"

He smiled slightly. "I guess not. I mean, I'm here, right?" he murmured, stepping closer, then grabbing her hand and holding it gently in his own.

Her breathing hitched slightly as he stood now stood inches away. "I don't know. Are you really?" She bit her lip, her eyes displaying despair. "Are you _real_?"

Still holding her hand, he pulled her back toward him and the distance between them reduced to centimeters, Jack's lips brushing softly against hers.

"You tell me," he mumbled against her lips.

Then, the light contact of their soft lips quickly turned into a passionate kiss in which both found themselves getting lost. Shakily, she reached for the buttons of his shirt and undid them, pulling his shirt off and letting it fall onto the floor. She pulled away and looked at him; there was uncertainty in her eyes, but the love she felt for him made the lust overcome it.

Pulling her close, Jack cupped her face as he leaned in, his breath hot and needy breezing against her lips. They stared at each other for a few seconds more before Jack finally crashed his lips on hers again. Her arms slowly slid up their way up and wound themselves around his neck ever so tightly, pressing her body flush against his.

His kisses grew hotter as his hands slid across the bare skin of her back, tugging at the hem of her thin checkered shorts, while his lips crept down her neck, emitting a small satisfied sound from her, loud enough to finally wake her fully.

"What is it?" he asked when he noticed her sudden lack of response.

She bit her lip, hesitant for a moment, before replying, "Nothing, I'm just— I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"For not trying harder to keep you alive. For not saving you," she whispered.

He let out a soft breathy chuckle as he caressed her flushed cheek. "Avery... you've saved me in more ways than I can count, and I thank you for that."

Her eyes scanned his face before finally settling upon his own, staring deeply into the almost tricolor hue. "You are real," she mumbled, absentmindedly caressing his face.

He smiled, moving his face a bit to kiss the palm of her hand. "I am. And I'm here for you now, and I'm staying as long as I'm wanted."

"I'll never want you to leave," said Avery.

His smile turned into a grin as he leaned down and kissed her tenderly. "I'm perfectly okay with that," he murmured before kissing her anew.

In mere seconds, the couple was stark naked, bodies pressed flush against each other, tangled on the bed.

Jack kissed her fiercely, practically pinning her down underneath himself, his hands holding her wrists on either side of her head as he devoured her plump pink lips with his own. After a moment, he pulled away to catch his breath, and stared down at her, letting go of her wrists. His eyes held a look of love and adoration as he brought a hand up and carefully stroked his fingers through her hair. Slowly, he slid his hand down from her hair, ghosting over her breast, down the gentle curve of her stomach, all the way down until his fingers found the folds between her legs. Spreading her thighs, he shifted slightly, repositioning himself on top of her, between her spread legs.

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved closer, but was forced to close them when the sensation of entering her became too much. He was surrounded by her, and it felt amazing. When he heard Avery release a low moan, his eyes flew open, wanting to see the pleasure he brought the beautiful woman beneath him. His belly met her groin and he was into the hilt. She held her breath and they cried out in unison when he slid out slowly and pushed himself back in, faster this time.

As he pushed back in, the way the walls of her tunnel stroked against his sensitive head already had him twitching his legs. Keeping his eyes locked with hers and his face close enough that he could feel her warm breath, he started accelerating his pace, thrusting his hips back and forth quickly and deliberately. She let out a soft moan every time he pushed in, and she was rocking her own hips, pushing to meet him all the way.

After what must've been eight or so thrusts, Jack involuntarily doubled over, resting his head next to hers with his chin upon her shoulder. His penis violently throbbed and jumped inside of her as he came hard. His orgasm was so intense that it almost hurt as he shot his seed deep into her womb. When he finally came down from his high, he felt exhausted. He came down, into her arms, gasping and breathless as he threaded his arms beneath her shoulders and hair.

The look in his eyes was naked with emotion. "I love you," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek as she hugged him viciously.

"I love you more," she mumbled.

"That's impossible," he replied, making her laugh.

Silence lapsed between them and lasted for a long moment before Avery's soft angelic voice broke it.

"You know... the Rose I met told me something before I fell overboard."

He looked at her, amused. "What did your older-self tell you?"

She chuckled at his choice of words, then said, " _'The worst thing that can happen to someone, when it comes to love, is falling in love in a dream...'_ " She smiled slightly. "I kind of agreed with her at her first, especially since I just so happen to have _fallen_ into the Ship of Dreams."

Jack chuckled. "What's your opinion now?"

She bit her lip as she thought for a moment. "Well... even though it was somewhat of a nightmare at first... it was also the best thing that ever happened to me. Wanna know why?"

He smiled down at her. "Why?"

And she looked up at him and smiled. "Because I got to meet you."

He stared at her for a long moment, then grinned tiredly. "I love you," he said again, making her smile brighten.

"I love you too." She bit her lip. "You know Holland— the girl who played me in my play last night?"

"Yeah?"

"She commented a few days back on how I should do a sort of mini-sequel to my story. Like what if you had survived, or something like that."

"But I did survive," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure she meant back then."

He chuckled and leaned in to press a soft kiss on her lips. "Will you?"

She bit her lip as she thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Nah, I'd rather just _live_ this sequel."

He grinned softly. "I don't know how many times I've told you this, but I love you, so much," he said, bringing a smile back to her lips. She smiled and kissed him again before giving him her reply.

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. And it ends here! I hope you liked it.


	17. Cast

Avery Rosalinda Lovett/Rosalinda DeWitt Bukater— portrayed (re-cast) by Emma Stone (previously Claire Danes)

(Old) Rose DeWitt Bukater— portrayed by Gloria Stuart

Jack Dawson— portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio

Caledon 'Cal' Hockley― portrayed by Billy Zane

Ruth Dewitt Bukater― portrayed by Frances Fisher

Molly Brown— portrayed by Kathy Bates

Brock Lovett— portrayed by Bill Paxton

Paulianna 'Anna' Simmons— portrayed by Rachel McAdams

Lewis Bodine— portrayed by Lewis Abernathy

Captain Edward James Smith— portrayed by Bernard Hill

Spicer Lovejoy— portrayed by David Warner

Thomas Andrews— portrayed by Victor Garber

Bruce Ismay— portrayed by Jonathan Hyde

Fabrizio— portrayed by Danny Nucci

Tommy Ryan— portrayed by Jason Barry

Lizzy Calvert— portrayed by Suzy Amis

Bobby Buell— portrayed by Nicholas Cascone

Anatoly Milkailavich— portrayed by Anatoly M. Sagalevitch

P.S. Didn't choose Kate Winslet, as this is a fanfic and the leading lady is an OC. Doesn't mean I am disregarding Kate — that woman is amazing in everything she does and I just love her! And her portrayal of Rose was utterly brilliant, and didn't y'all just love her chemistry with DiCaprio?


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